


Recollections

by AnnaMouse



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Family, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 18:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaMouse/pseuds/AnnaMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preparing to play Shepard in a war docudrama, an actress shadows Shepard as she interacts with her friends and family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Important Note:  
> This is a follow-on work to "Transitions", I recommend you read that work first. This work takes place (chronologically) between Chapters 4 and 5 of Part 2 in "Transitions". 
> 
> Acknowledgements / Disclaimers:  
> As it will become obvious almost immediately, this work is inspired by the HBO series ‘Band of Brothers’; regards and gratitude to them for such an important series.
> 
> This work is intended for amusement without gain and is, therefore, fair use. Gratitude to Bioware/EA for a universe that is so fun to play around in.
> 
> Dedication:  
> This work is dedicated to us all, we few, we merry few; if you can hold on…

Prologue:

Rear Admiral (Lower Half) Victoria Shepard, Alliance Navy [Retired], shook her head.  _What a pain, why me?_   At times like these, however, Victoria liked to take a breath and remind herself, _everything you did during the war was so that mundane shit like this could continue.  Ah well, I’m such a god damn humanitarian._

She took a deep breath and looked out onto the soccer field.  It was funny, once introduced to the game, the Asari ate it up.  They just couldn’t get enough of it.  Funnier still was that they called it _soccer_ rather than _football_ like most of the human race did.  The members of the first human diplomatic mission to Thessia had been from North America.  They had brought the game, and the name, with them. 

Samara was no exception, and the ‘Savior of the Citadel’ had gotten roped into a position as assistant coach.  _I should see about getting her tickets to the next World Cup_ , thought Shepard.  Still, it could be worse.  A royal purple-skinned Matron had things well in hand, even if her daughters _did_ get a little bit more playing time than anyone else.  Shepard really only showed up for drills and to carry the first aid kit.  _And to cheer Sam on,_ she reminded herself happily.

Shepard’s heart warmed watching Samara lope around the field.  Asari matured at roughly the same rate as human children, and she was just growing out of the awkward stage where she seemed to be tripping over her just-slightly-too-long limbs all the time.  She was rapidly becoming a beautiful young woman.  _Sam is going to break some hearts when she’s a little bit older_ , Shepard thought.  Then she shivered internally at the idea that Samara’s ‘wild youth’ stage might last a couple of _centuries_.

She looked down at the data pad again and shook her head.  She reread the message:

_Shepard,_

_Westerlund News and the Citadel News Net are working up a number of documentary/drama series on the Reaper War with a target release date of the twentieth anniversary of VR Day.  They’ve indicated that you’ll feature prominently in one of them.  We’d like you to ‘consult’.  Keep them honest, make sure they get their facts right, and that they don’t besmirch the Navy._

Shepard shook her head again and resumed reading:

_Just man-up and take one for the team, old friend.  Give your family my love._

_\- David Anderson_

She closed her eyes and chuckled to herself.  In the long run, helping an actor and producer get their facts straight on a documentary series about the Reaper War was the right thing to do.  Future generations needed to know what their forbearers did; and it would certainly help recruiting numbers.  In the near term, however…  Victoria’s thought pattern trailed off when a familiar face entered her field of view.

_Aww shit,_ she thought, _no one said_ she _was producing this thing_. 

None other than Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani approached Shepard and sat beside her on the bleachers.  Shepard regarded the reporter severely.  “You’re not going to break my nose again, are you?”

Victoria fixed Khalisah in her stare for a few moments longer, and then looked out onto the field.  Watching Samara calmed her greatly.  “I’ve mellowed somewhat in my old age,” she said coldly.

“Victoria.”

“Admiral,” Shepard cut her off.

“ _Admiral_ ,” Khalisah said with noticeable displeasure, “I’m not here to fight with you.  In fact, if you play this right, you may never have to see me again.  After all, I’d like to avoid another deviated septum.”

“That’d be great,” Shepard said flatly.

Khalisah crossed her arms over her chest, “Admiral, I’ve mellowed somewhat too.  I’m actually older than you, in case you care.  I won’t apologize for the hard time I’ve given you in the past; I believe I was doing the right thing at the time.  However, as it turned out, you were right about everything.  Your story needs to be told.  The galaxy needs to remember what happened, and I’m going to make sure they do.”

Victoria was somewhat taken aback by Khalisah’s honestly.  _That actually sounded human._   “I wasn’t alone, and don’t forget, my team and I only had a small part in the war.  Devoting all your efforts to our story is selling most of the galaxy short.”

“Indeed.  The series on you and the crew of the _Normandy_ is just one of a suite of projects.  Realize, though, that _you_ , more than anyone else, personify the war and our victory.  Like it or not, you _are_ a hero; _the_ hero, actually.”  She stood, “With that said, I’ll leave you in the hands of Cynthia Wright.  She’ll be playing you, and I’ve granted her broad authority on creative decisions.  Please answer her questions, and, hopefully, you’ll never have to see me again.”  _There’s always hope,_ Victoria thought.

Khalisah walked away without another word.  _That was actually fairly benign,_ thought Shepard.  _Too bad, it might have been nice to lay her out one more time for old time’s sake._   Shepard observed as the reporter walked up to a redheaded woman watching the soccer game from the sideline.  They shared a few words and Khalisah left.  The redhead turned to regard the Admiral.  _Holy shit, she looks just like me!_   Cynthia was slightly shorter than Shepard, her breasts were a little bigger, but she had the same flame red hair and penetrating green eyes.  She started up the bleachers towards the Admiral. 

*****

Cynthia Wright looked up at the temporary aluminum bleachers and beheld a legend.  _It’s her, it’s actually her,_ Cynthia thought, _it’s_ the _Shepard_.  _I really do look like her, Khalisah wasn’t kidding._   The Admiral looked to be slightly taller, and _harder,_ than the actress.  Even after roughly seventeen years of retirement she had a toughened menacing look about her.  She looked into Shepard’s eyes.  They looked back, regarding her, _evaluating_ her.  Cynthia felt a sinking feeling in her gut; she was looking into the eyes of a _killer_.  Shepard was a legend, deadly to her enemies yet profoundly empathetic to her friends.  She had literally died defending the galaxy from evil.  But she was a _predator_ , a borderline force of nature, definitely not someone to be trifled with.

_Here we go,_ thought Cynthia.  She started up the steps; the bleachers gently sagged beneath her.  As she approached, Cynthia began taking in more details.  Shepard’s clothes were casual, but obviously meticulously maintained.  She wore well-worn athletic shoes, but they must have been brushed clean on a regular basis.  Her hands were rough and callused, but her finger nails were shiny and well groomed.  _She wears nail polish?_   She wore a simple iridium wedding band on her left hand, _her love for the Lady Liara was almost as legendary as her war record,_ but otherwise had no jewelry.  Her red hair, shoulder length and let down, wafted gently in the cool Thessian breeze. 

Cynthia pulled even with the Admiral and locked eyes with her.  Shepard nodded nearly imperceptibly.  Then her eyes went back out towards the soccer game.  “Admiral Shepard, Cynthia Wright, a pleasure to meet you ma’am.”  She didn’t bother holding her hand out; somehow she knew it wouldn’t be accepted.  _I haven’t earned that yet_.   Shepard silently cocked her head to the left, inviting her to sit.  Cynthia decided that she wasn’t going to become flustered in front of the Admiral.  _If I’m going to portray this woman, I better learn to act like her._  

The Admiral’s behavior towards her was not entirely unexpected.  Shepard was known as a warm and friendly person towards those she knew well or cared about, but was equally well known as reserved and somewhat cold towards strangers or those she had less than respect for.  Cynthia hypothesized that this was at least partially a product of her war experiences.  She would have to take care to capture it properly.  _Still, I’m going to have to get her to warm up to me if I want to do my job,_ she thought to herself.

“Thanks for agreeing to help me out,” Cynthia plowed on.  “Which one is yours?” she asked, motioning towards the playing field with her chin.

“The blue one,” Shepard responded dryly. 

“Funny,” Cynthia responded despite herself.  Regardless, that did actually narrow it down somewhat.  Shepard’s daughter’s team was scrimmaging against a human team; children of the Serrice Consulate’s staff.  “The right-side midfielder?”  Of course she knew she was right even before Shepard spoke.  Samara T’soni’s resemblance to the late Lady Benezia was startling. 

“Yes.”  Shepard cringed slightly.  Cynthia turned towards the field to see Samara stagger under the blow of a header.  Then she took off downfield after the ball.  _Interesting, she_ does _show_ some _emotion to strangers._ The sound of the impact reached them a fraction of a second later, _that ball must have really been moving._   Shepard’s eyes shot to the actress and then back to the field.  She leaned back against the next row of seats and crossed her arms across her chest, “This is where you ask me if the Asari hurt their _hair_ horns a lot in this game.”

Cynthia looked back towards the action.  Samara had actually headed the ball out of bounds and the opposing team was setting up for a throw-in.  “I imagine whatever disadvantage their anatomy poses they make up for in other ways.”  She chuckled, “The opposing goalie looks distracted.  I think she might actually be drooling.”

Shepard chuckled at that.  _Ahah!  Now she’s beginning to warm to me_ , thought Cynthia hopefully.  “Very observant.  It’s somewhat less of a factor when they’re playing other Asari.  But still, girls will be girls.”  Shepard’s face hardened again.  “How do you want to play this, Miss Wright?”  _Down to business, she’s done_ playing nice, thought Cynthia.

“Ma’am, I’d like to shadow you for a while.  Observe your day-to-day, your interactions at work and with your family.  My goal will be to get a read on your personality.  It will help me play you better.  I’ll want to ask you questions about your experiences; some directly related to what will be in our series, others more background.  I’d also like you to come observe some of the scenes we’re filming, as well as a _boot camp_ we’ve put together so the rest of the actors and I have the basics down.”

Through this Victoria regarded the actress coolly.  Cynthia had no earthly idea what she thought of it.  _She’s so inscrutable,_ she thought with almost awe, _this is going to be challenging to capture._   Somehow, however, she knew that being straight forward was the right way to go; no cajoling, no demands, just honesty.

“It’s very important to me that I don’t screw this up.”

Victoria seemed to soak in this last datum, shifted her weight forward, and began to speak.  She was interrupted, however, by a long whistle from the field.  The scrimmage was over.  The teams lined up to shake hands.  “Miss Wright, I agree, on two conditions.”

“Yes ma’am?”

“One, I do this at _my_ convenience, not yours.  If I don’t like what you’re asking, or when you’re asking it, I’m just going to tell you to take a hike.  Two,” she looked up and smiled.  Samara was bounding her way towards them.  _She certainly seems to adore her daughter._   “Two, unless you have my express permission, you are not to say a single word to my daughter.”  She looked at the actress.  Her face was even, not even a scowl, but the _eyes!_   There was _the killer_ again.  “I won’t insult you with dramatic threats.  You’ve obviously researched me.  You know what I’m capable of.  But know this.  Spectres really don’t _technically_ retire.  Nothing bad will ever happen to me, regardless of what might happen to you.”  She paused, letting that fact sink in, “I’m quite serious about that.”

Cynthia gulped despite herself.  She had just seen the face of death itself.  “Understood Admiral,” she stammered.

Shepard’s demeanor changed abruptly as Samara arrived on the bleachers.  She smiled, “Hi Sam!  This is Miss Wright.  She’s going to be playing me in a documentary.”

“Hi!” said the young Asari.  She held out her hand.  She paused, cocked her head, and said, “I’ve seen some of your movies!”

Cynthia was startled.  The happy, high-pitched voice coming from Matriarch Benezia’s face was jarring.  She shook the girl’s hand and noticed the same finger nail polish.  Cynthia couldn’t help herself, “You paint your mom’s nails?”

“No,” she responded cheerfully.  “She paints mine.”

Cynthia looked at Shepard.  Shepard arched an eyebrow.  _No shit._


	2. Shepard the Wife

Shepard the Wife:

The T’soni estate was impressive.  The grounds were expansive and beautifully maintained.  The gardens were inspiringly idyllic.  Cynthia would have pondered on just how much money the Matriarch Benezia must have had to afford all of this, but she was too occupied desperately trying to oxygenate her blood.  Cynthia Wright was in excellent physical condition, a consequence of the job, but the Admiral had run her completely into the ground.

Shepard had done it on purpose, of that she was sure.  It had seemed that the Admiral would periodically pick up the pace of their run to the estate from the soccer fields, _thank god I was wearing sneakers,_ and then observe the effect it was having on her.  Shepard was consciously keeping their pace at the very limit of, _but just within_ , her capability.  _Chatting about her plans for the documentary the whole while instead of just breathing didn’t help either,_ she thought.

“Guest house is over there,” Shepard said motioning down a stone path.  “Grab yourself a shower and a fresh set of clothes.”  The Admiral ran her eyes up and down her body.  Her expression seemed cold, like she was sizing up a piece of meat.  “You look to be about the same size as Kelly, there should be some stuff you’ll fit into in the dresser; something casual.  Put the clothes you’re wearing now in the fresher when you’re done and meet me in the main house.”  With that she turned and bounded up a large set of stone steps towards her home.  S _hit, is she even slightly tired?_  

Cynthia lazily walked down the stone path.  Her heart was finally slowing down.  Upon reaching the guest house she stopped.  _Guest house?  This would qualify as a very nice home by itself on almost any world._   She let herself in.  The interior was homey and accommodating.  She entered the master bedroom, it was simple yet cozy.  She approached a dresser and an adjacent bureau.  On the dresser were several framed photos.  In one, a pale faced Asari held an Asari baby and beamed at the camera.  In another, a redheaded woman dressed in an Alliance Navy uniform stood next to Admiral Shepard, they had their arms around each other’s shoulders and were smiling.  In a third photo, the same woman was embracing the pale faced Asari from the first photo, _she looks like a Matriarch._   In the fourth and final photo, the same pair were surrounded by several other people each touching their hands to the couple.  _Isn’t that an Asari_ bonding ceremony _?_  

Suddenly the thoughts coalesced in Cynthia’s mind, _this is Kelly Chambers and her mate the Matriarch Aethyta.  Aethyta is Liara T’soni’s_ father _._   _They must spend time here together._   Cynthia was surprised with herself, she had studied most of the details of Shepard’s home life, she should have remembered this.  _My brain probably still needs more oxygen,_ she thought.  She looked at Kelly’s face, _you don’t seem overly remarkable, how did_ you _bag yourself a Matriarch?_  

Cynthia shrugged and opened a drawer.  Rummaging around for a few moments she extracted a pair of casual slacks and a shirt which looked to be the right size.  Then, out of curiosity, she opened the bureau.  Inside were a number of human dresses, some elegant-looking Asari robes, and some _very_ imaginative intimate-wear.  Cynthia’s eyes shot to the photos on the dresser, _my my, aren’t_ we _adventurous._   There was also an Alliance Navy ‘service khaki’ uniform with two silver bars on each lapel and a modest, yet distinguished, ribbon ‘salad bar’.  The name tag read ‘Chambers’.

Cynthia remembered the research she’d conducted into the Alliance Navy.  The two silver bars made Kelly a lieutenant, _odd, the research I did pegged her as a bit of a ditz_.  The ‘salad bar’ was more surprising; Galactic Unit Citation, Purple Heart, Reaper War Campaign Ribbon, Battle of Sol Campaign Ribbon, 2 nd Battle of the Citadel Campaign Ribbon...  _Jesus, this chick is a war hero?  Wasn’t she just the ship’s shrink?  I’ll have to ask Victoria about that._

Cynthia showered, dressed, and made her way to the main house.  She called out upon entering but heard no response.  There was a small shoe rack near the door so she kicked off her sandals and began exploring.  The exterior of the estate was imposing, but the interior was actually rather cozy.  One room contained an enormous video screen; its walls were covered with video media of varying formats.  _Wow, someone is into old Earth cinema_ , Cynthia thought. 

Cynthia came upon the kitchen.  She stopped short and observed.  Shepard and the Lady Liara were there.  They held each other.  Shepard, with her forehead gently pressed to Liara’s, was whispering.  They were both smiling.  They looked so happy.  _This is not the same Shepard I met at the soccer field._   The scene was so, _tender._   _My research was on the money,_ thought Cynthia, _they really are madly in love.  Even after, what was it, seventeen years?_   Of course, for an Asari, seventeen years was a blink of an eye.

The whole scene struck Cynthia as a collection of contradictions.  She was in a sprawling estate that must have cost untold millions of credits, but it had a kitchen that looked like the one you’d find in any human home in existence.  It even had crayon drawings and photographs held to the refrigerator with magnets.  Standing in it was the Alliance’s hero-of-heroes and her Asari wife.  Shepard could have had any human woman _or man_ she wanted, but had bonded with the Lady Liara instead.  Liara, like any Asari, was beautiful by galactic standards, but compared to others of her kind she was actually rather plain.  Despite being an authority in all matters Prothean, and an extremely well regarded information broker, the Lady Liara was also generally known as being socially _and physically_ awkward.  _An awkward Asari was definitely a contradiction._   Perhaps Cynthia’s thoughts were being clouded by her own preconceptions.  She’d never really understood the attraction to Asari.  Victoria took the Lady Liara’s face in her hands and kissed her, Cynthia took this as a cue to leave. 

*****

Their lips separated with a quiet _smack_.  Shepard still gently held her beloved’s face.

“Is she gone?” asked Liara.

“Who cares,” Shepard responded.  Victoria reached underneath her wife and lifted her onto the kitchen counter.

“Right here Victoria?” Liara asked with a giggle.  “Right now, on the counter?  We’ve got company.”

Victoria smiled and kissed her wife again.  She knew Liara was right.  _Still, it’s not very often Sam’s out of the house for a whole night._ Samara was spending the evening at a friend’s house.  _We don’t get the opportunity to see what parts of the house passion takes us much anymore._   Then Shepard realized that she didn’t really care if their guest saw them.  _She wants to get to know the real me, right?_

Liara’s omni-tool chirped and killed the mood.  Liara pouted.  _She’s so adorable when she does that,_ thought Shepard.  She read a message on her omni-tool’s display and powered the device down.  “She’ll be here in about fifteen minutes.”  She cocked her head, “The dinner is already here, we can warm it up anytime.  Maybe you should go grab your, what did you call it, _doppelganger?_ ”

Victoria sighed, “Say the word and I’ll put her out on her ass.  We can spend the rest of the night together alone.”  She nipped at what she thought of as Liara’s ear.

“Go,” Liara said playfully, “Be the hero one more time.”

“You know, you still haven’t told me who your evil twin is.  Or is it a _surprise_ , like when you didn’t tell me I was going to have to deal with Khalisah al-Jilani?  You afraid I was going to break her nose again?”

“Go,” Liara responded with a wink.

Shepard turned to leave and jumped at the surprise of Liara pinching her ass.  She turned and kissed her again.

*****

Cynthia walked down a hallway into what seemed to be a sitting room.  _Hum, now this is certainly a portal into their personal lives,_ she thought.  The walls were covered with paintings and photos.  She walked over to the oversized fireplace and examined the objects on the mantle.  An Alliance flag sat folded and sealed in a modest glass case.  A small brass plaque bore the name ‘Hannah Shepard’, _Shepard’s mother._ _This must be the flag presented at her memorial,_ she thought.  There had been no corpse to bury after _Orizaba_ went down.  Next to it was a similarly labeled glass case containing the late Captain Shepard’s decorations.  _Holy shit, war heroes run in the family,_ she thought.

A picture of the two Shepards.  Hannah Shepard, then a Commander and the executive officer of the dreadnaught _SSV Kilimanjaro_ , was presenting her daughter, then a Lieutenant, with the _Star of Terra_ for her actions on Elysium at a reception on Arcturus Station on behalf of the Alliance Parliament.  _They certainly look alike, especially in uniform._ Cynthia leaned in to get a closer look.  _No fucking way, is that the prime minister next to her?_

A photo of Shepard and Liara at their wedding.  A photo of Shepard and Liara holding their daughter on the day she was born. 

Another glass case containing Victoria’s decorations; it was _not_ a small case.  Most notably it contained the Turian _Nova Cluster_ , the Salarian _Silver Dagger_ , and _two Stars of Terra_.  Shepard was the only person to ever earn the Alliance’s highest honor twice, and by statute she would be the last. 

A doctorate from the University of Serrice belonging to the Lady Liara.  A Masters of Arts degree in History from the same belonging to Victoria Shepard.  A soccer trophy belonging to Samara T’soni.  A photo of Samara T’soni behind a drum kit, she seemed to be playing very _enthusiastically._  

Cynthia then focused her attention on a couple of paintings.  They were both true-to-life portraits of Asari.  One was of the Matriarch Benezia.  Her facial expression was soft, almost happy.  A noticeable departure from most of the archived images Cynthia had seen during her research.  Next to it was a painting of another Asari Matriarch.  In profile, she had her eyes closed.  Small metallic ornaments decorated her forehead.  Cynthia couldn’t decide if she was happy or sad.  The signatures on the paintings were in Asari script, but Cynthia could make out _T’soni_.

*****

Victoria came upon Cynthia Wright in her family-room.  She was examining the items over the fireplace.  Oddly enough, she seemed more interested in Samara’s paintings than any of her war memorabilia.  She couldn’t really blame her, Samara was remarkably talented.  _Art, music, sports; we really put together one hell of a kid, didn’t we?_

“That’s the Justicar Samara.”  Cynthia jumped.  _Twitchy, aren’t we?_   She turned, surprised, to look at her.  “She’s Sam’s namesake.  We fought the Collectors together.  She’s no longer with us,” she said, sadly. 

“Did the Lady Liara paint these?  This says T’soni, yes?”

“No, Samara did.”

“Wow.  She’s very talented, Admiral.”  Her eyes drifted towards the photographs.  “She also plays the drums?”

“No, she plays the _shit_ out of the drums.”  Shepard paused, “She’s got a garage band, _The Blueberry Jam_.”

“Oy,” Cynthia rolled he eyes despite herself.

“Yeah.  She inherited my sense of humor, unfortunately.”  She paused and looked at the photo, “At least she got her mother’s looks.  The band’s actually pretty good.  Covers mostly.  They’re on a 20th – 21st Century Earth kick at the moment.  The local ‘battle of the bands’ is later this week, she’s off practicing.  I’ll be going.  You can join me if you like.”    

*****

 _This is_ definitely _a different Victoria Shepard than I met at the soccer field,_ thought Cynthia.  “I’d love to listen to Samara play.”  _I need to see how she acts around her daughter, it’s such a departure from_ the killer, she thought.  Cynthia let her eyes drift across the other items hanging above the mantel piece.  “I didn’t know you held a Master’s Degree from the University of Serrice.”

“I actually hold an honorary doctorate, but I didn’t earn that one.  Besides,” Victoria shook her head, “I’ll be damned if I claim to be a doctor when my wife studied for decades for hers.”

“I heard you teach at the University?”

“I have a few classes and some seminars.  Again, Liara is the _real_ professor, but they let me lecture on human history and the history of the Reaper War.  Tomorrow is one of the days I teach, you’ll be joining me.”  _Glad I didn’t have to ask,_ thought Cynthia.  Shepard’s omni-tool chimed.  She looked down and read the brief message.  “It looks like our other guest has arrived.  There’s seating for four in the breakfast nook, we’ll eat there.”

 _Breakfast nook?  This_ estate _has a breakfast nook?_   “Sounds great Admiral, thanks for having me.”  Shepard grunted an acknowledgement.  Her eyes lingered on her mother’s decorations for a moment, then she led her back towards the kitchen.  _She puts up a tough front,_ thought Cynthia, _but every once in a while there are flickers._   Flickers of what exactly Cynthia was unsure, _but there’s something there._

Falling in behind the Admiral, Cynthia noticed she was barefoot.  Her toe nails bore the same nail polish as her hands.  Somehow Cynthia had difficulty picturing Shepard painting her daughter’s nails.

*****

 _No fucking way!  U’nara T’noal is playing my wife?_   Shepard looked into the eyes of the renowned Asari actress of _Vaenia_ -fame.  Cynthia Wright didn’t seem surprised, _of course, she would know who the other cast members are._   Shepard was somewhat surprised with herself, _why didn’t I think to ask Cynthia?_

Shepard shook hands with the Asari actress and looked to her wife.  Liara smiled back mischievously.  U’nara seized the initiative, “A pleasure to meet you Admiral Shepard.  I hear you’re a big fan of _Vaenia_.  I’ve taken the liberty of signing your copy, I hope you don’t mind.”  She winked.  _She winked at me?_  

Liara giggled, she could tell her mate was flustered.  Shepard was actually quite a fan of U’nara, _more than she’d care to admit.  At least in public, anyway._ That Shepard and Liara had actually acted out some scenes from the film was a tightly guarded secret; especially from Joker, _that letch_.  Shepard had never been shy about her sexuality, but at the same time she didn’t flaunt it overtly either.  She was secretly relieved to learn that Liara’s appetites actually matched her own, once you got below the shy prudish exterior.  Of course, it wasn’t really secret from Liara; to her she was an open book in the bond.

Still, Shepard was definitely a _fan_ of T’noal’s work.  Liara let that slide since it was _her_ she acted out _Vaenia’s_ love scenes with.  Asari actresses were an odd bunch.  Like any race, Asari art came in many forms; ranging from comedy to tragedy, action to drama, stories for young people or children, and those directed solely towards adults.  Like many Asari actresses, T’noal had been in several films that would have been labeled pornographic by humans; for Asari it was just par for the course.  The Asari were a _very_ sensual race, despite their attempts to downplay it.

Shepard held out her hand, “It’s nice to meet you Miss T’noal.”  Shepard realized she was greeting the Asari actress with much more warmth and friendliness than she had her human counterpart.  She was sure Cynthia would pick up on that.  “Oh, and thanks for the autograph.”

“Of course Admiral.”  U’nara directed her attention to Cynthia, “Good to see you again Cynthia.  I’m looking forward to getting started on this project.”

*****

Cynthia watched Admiral Shepard interact with the Asari actress.  She sensed an attraction, _looks like the Admiral has a thing for blue_.  Though, there was something more to it than that.  Cynthia’s gut told her, however, that asking the Admiral about it would not be wise; _a low percentage move_.  Cynthia figured it probably had something to do with that film _Vaenia_.  She pondered that for a moment.  _Definitely_ not something to ask about, she decided.

The four women sat down to eat dinner.  The meal was a mix of human and Asari fare; a sushi platter of Earth and Thessian fish, a very colorful salad of Thessian ‘greens’, and a steaming hot noodle soup.  There also appeared to be a carton of chocolate covered strawberries on the kitchen counter for dessert.  Shepard and Liara served a red wine produced at a nearby vineyard and an amber beer Victoria brewed herself.  Cynthia was somewhat surprised by the hobby, she was glad to have the opportunity to get to know Shepard better.  It was little tidbits like these she was after to give texture to her character.

Dinner conversation seemed to wander.  U’nara asked the couple how they’d met, what it was like teaching, and the trials of raising a teenage daughter.  Cynthia was surprised how Liara and Victoria could make a firefight between themselves, a Krogan Battlemaster, and a brace of Geth sound romantic.  Apparently, despite the violence, it was love at first sight.  _Unbelievable_ , she thought.  Cynthia was inclined to lean back slightly and let the Asari actress do the probing; somehow she thought she’d get more information that way.

“I’m somewhat surprised,” said U’nara, “I’ve heard that humans, especially ones of North American descent like you, are big fans of red meat.  I was almost anticipating a semi-raw steak for dinner, not this lovely Earth/Thessia fusion.”

Cynthia observed.  Shepard was quiet for a few moments.  Liara looked at her wife with a mildly concerned facial expression.  “I don’t eat red meat anymore.”  The two actresses looked at the Admiral expectantly.  “Carnage,” she said flatly.  Victoria paused and looked at nothing in particular for a moment.  _I need to capture this,_ thought Cynthia, _there’s_ pain _beneath that exterior._

Liara reached out and took her wife’s hand.  Cynthia and U’nara observed.  Shepard sighed, and then she smiled.  She reached up and brushed her wife’s face.  Liara was obviously a stabilizing influence on Admiral Shepard.  Cynthia was glad that she and U’nara could see these interactions together.  It would make portraying Shepard and Liara’s relationship all the easier.  Still, the idea of the planned love scenes between her and U’nara put her slightly ill at ease.  Cynthia was a consummate professional when it came to acting; but she really wasn’t attracted to Asari, or women in general.  The thought of being intimate with one on camera was not something she relished. 

U’nara kept probing.  “So, when can we expect another little-one from you two?  Shepard won’t be young and spry forever.”

The conversation came to an abrupt stop.  The silence was only broken by Shepard placing her emptied pint glass down on the marble-topped table.  “Miss T’noal,” said Shepard evenly, “that’s none of your business.”  _The killer_ was talking, even U’nara could appreciate it.  Cynthia needed to consciously keep her jaw from dropping.  She too wondered why they had stopped with a single child, but she’d never ask them about it so bluntly.

“So it was your decision then, Admiral?”  U’nara looked at Liara, “Victoria calls the shots when it comes to babies?”  Cynthia got the impression that U’nara was doing this on purpose.  She wanted to see if she could provoke emotional responses from Shepard and Liara.  So far she was doing a great job, but Cynthia couldn’t help but fear she might get herself killed in the process.

Victoria became very calm as Liara placed her hand on her mate’s leg.  It was almost as if she could completely disarm Victoria at will.  Still, the danger hadn’t passed.  Liara’s normally pleasant expression had changed.  It seemed Victoria didn’t have a monopoly on _the killer_.  “U’nara, I appreciate what you’re trying to do.  In fact, I applaud what Shepard would call your utter _ballsy-ness_ in trying to illicit emotional reactions from us; even if you’re being a total ass-hat.  I truly look forward to your portrayal of me in the film, I’m confident you’ll do an amazing job.  But, you should know, you’re playing with fire now.”  Both Cynthia and U’nara leaned back at that.  Liara spoke evenly but with forcefulness.  She meant what she said, and she was willing to back it up.  “We both love our daughter with all our hearts.  If and when we choose to have more children we’ll welcome them into this world with the same joy and love as we did with Samara.  But,” Liara paused and looked U’nara in the eyes, “we’ll do so on our own time table, and without discussing it with your nor anyone else beforehand.”

Shepard smiled.  “Cynthia,” she said, “I appreciate your tact, how about some dessert?”  Cynthia was surprised.  Shepard had never addressed her by her first name before.

*****

Liara, hips aching, chest heaving, skin covered in sweat, rolled off of her beloved.  After their dinner guests had left, Liara had silently taken Victoria by the hand and led them to their bedroom; she then proceeded to fuck her insensate.  Then, after giving her a few minutes to recover, she did it again.  Then a third time.  Not that Shepard was complaining, but Liara had completely worn her out.  

The rest of dinner, after Liara had laid down the law regarding their potential future children, was awkward.  Shepard couldn’t wait to get that Asari actress out of their home.  To her credit, Cynthia had sense enough not to get involved.  Though, Shepard was sure that she had found the entire exchange _enlightening_.  Be that as it may, Shepard was surprised somewhat by her wife’s reaction.  Liara had never gotten nearly as upset when anyone else asked them about their future family plans.  Then again, it was always either close friends or family who were asking.

“Love,” Shepard groaned, “would you like to tell me what’s bothering you so much?  I don’t think I’ll survive another round.”  This, in and of itself, was telling.  Normally, Liara’s thoughts would have come through the bond loud and clear.  Liara was so agitated, however, that it was difficult to filter her thoughts out from the noise.  It was very rare they had a purely sexual encounter; they usually took their intimate time together as an opportunity to share their deepest thoughts and feelings.  Shepard found this all the more confusing. 

“I want more babies.”  _So that’s it._

“Me too,” responded Shepard truthfully.  She rolled to face Liara.

“I didn’t appreciate that _Vaenia_ bitch acting like she knew what’s best for our family.”  Not that she needed more evidence, but now Shepard was certain Liara was upset.  She almost never used foul language.

“Nor did I, beloved,” Shepard responded.  “You handled that quite well.”

“So, why don’t we have another baby?” Liara asked.  “Say it out loud, it helps to hear it.”

“We decided that we wanted to wait until Samara was grown up.  We wanted to be able to devote all of our energy to a new baby.”

“But she was right, you won’t be young forever.  If we wait too long it might be too late,” Liara responded.

“I’ve got at least another 60 years left in me, maybe even half again more after that,” Shepard said looking into Liara’s eyes.  “As to being young,” she said as she ran her hand up the inside of Liara’s thigh, “I’ve still got some spunk left in me.”  Liara arched her back and moaned as she teased at her with her fingertips.

Liara thought on this point for a few moments.  She opened her eyes and looked into her beloved’s gaze intently.  “Promise me Victoria.  Promise you’ll give me more children; as many as possible.”  She smiled.  “We have so much love to give, and we’re obviously amazing parents.”

“No argument there.”

“I want you Victoria, I want family with you, I want a bigger family with you.”

“And we’ll have it, Liara,” Shepard said without hesitation.  “Samara is almost old enough to look after herself.  She’s nearly an adult by human standards.  We can have another baby and be able to devote most of our time to her.  When _she’s_ grown we can have another, and another one after that.”  She smiled.

“You promise?”

“Yes my love.”

Liara smiled her agreement.  Gently this time, Liara rolled atop her beloved and initiated the bond.  Shepard was happy, content in her wife and family which would grow again sometime in the not-too-distant future.  When she was with Liara, Victoria felt she could do anything.  She even forgot, at least on the conscious level, the other reason she wanted to space their children out. 

Shepard was afraid she might be a poor parent, teach her daughters the wrong lessons, fail to give them the right tools for a successful life.  Victoria remembered what another Shepard had said long ago while he prepared to become the first American in space; _don’t fuck up, Shepard_.  She wanted to see how things went with Samara before trying again, if she wanted to try again.  Victoria didn’t want to _fuck up_ her family.  She didn’t want to risk brining more life into this world just to fuck it up too.  She’d do anything to prevent that from happening.  _Anything._

But, when she was Liara, as she was now, she forgot such fears.  Liara was never even aware of them; and wouldn’t be for a very long time.


	3. Shepard the Educator

Shepard the Educator:

The University of Serrice was one of the Asari Republics’ premier institutions of higher learning.  Considering the premium the long-lived Asari placed on education that was saying something.  After all, it wasn’t out of the norm for a Maiden to spend half a century or more earning a degree.  Cynthia Wright soaked it in.  The campus itself was idyllic.  _The Asari certainly love their gardens._   What Cynthia found jarring was that none of the students were younger than 50 years old.  _I wonder if that means that the sorority parties are more wild or less._   Cynthia’s money was on _more._

She wandered into the History Department’s building and located Admiral Shepard’s office.  In here, at least, things began resembling her own college experience; poorly lit hallways, holographic displays of the department’s research publications, vending machines, and dumpy looking couches.  Cynthia passed an Asari in the hallway who was wearing a gray ‘University of Serrice’ sweat shirt.  _No way!  That has to be a joke.  I can’t picture the Asari wearing sweat shirts for any other reason than to be ironic._

Shepard’s door was already open, she knocked on the frame, “Professor Shepard I presume?” she said with a smirk.  Shepard’s office, in reality a large closet, was typical University.  Most of the floor space was taken up by an old office desk and a few chairs.  The walls were covered with book shelves, _she has actual books_ , or photos of the Admiral’s family.  There was even a ‘world’s best mom’ coffee mug with steam escaping from the small plastic cap.  Similarly, Shepard dressed as a college professor.  _Or at least one version of one,_ somehow Cynthia couldn’t picture Shepard as the fleece sweater and sandals wearing professor type.  She wore a modest business suit; alas, no tweed jacket.  Her shoes were mirror shined, old habits die hard.  She wore the rosette of the _Star of Terra_ on her lapel.  Her hair was tied in the same tight bun she wore when in uniform.  _I suppose she is_ in uniform _in a way._   _If she only had horned rimmed glasses she’d make some fetishist’s day,_ Cynthia thought to herself.

Victoria looked up.  She wasn’t amused.  “Liara’s the Professor.  I haven’t earned my Doctorate,” she paused, “yet.”  They’d discussed this before, Shepard did not regard the Honorary Doctorate she’d received from the University of Serrice, nor any of the three dozen other such ‘degrees’ she held, as legitimate.  _Everyone seemed to throw them at her after the war was over._   As of now, she’d only earned Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in History.  Though, she liked to think of herself as _self-taught_ in those subjects.

“How do your students address you then?”

“Admiral Shepard, Ms. Shepard, Mrs. Shepard.”  She shrugged, “Sometimes Professor Shepard.  I even got Mrs. T’soni once, but that was a,” she paused, _“joke_.  I usually only need to correct them once, they’re smart kids.  The correct answer is Admiral for the students, Victoria for the other professors; unless we’re in front of students.  I cut Matriarchs the same break when we’re in private.”  Cynthia was a bit floored that Shepard would refer to women who were between two and ten times her own age as _kids_.  The rest of it was pretty standard protocol.  Still, Cynthia didn’t know if she would have been able to require, at least with a straight face, that level of respect from people who were that much older than she was.  “Time to head over.  Ready?”

“Yes ma’am,” was the only correct answer.  “What’s today’s lecture?”

“The Skyllian Blitz, specifically the battle for Elysium.”

 _From the ‘Hero of the Blitz’ herself?  Now_ this _should be interesting._

*****

Victoria locked her office door and motioned for Cynthia to follow.  She fell in two steps behind and just to the side of her.  It was a five minute walk to the lecture hall at regulation pace.  They had plenty of time, Shepard always walked at regulation pace.

“So, what’s it like teaching history to Asari?  You’re speaking from a position of authority to a bunch of women who’ve, in all likelihood, experienced more history in their _childhoods_ than you _ever_ will.”

Shepard didn’t bother turning to look, “It’s a bit incongruous, yes.  Though, most things are with the Asari.”  Victoria was actually coming to like Cynthia’s style of questioning.  She didn’t sugar coat anything.  So long as she didn’t actively insult her, and she hadn’t yet, she preferred the straight forward approach.  “Still, you’re correct.  Most of these women have already lived more years than I ever will, with centuries yet to go.  Living through more history, however, doesn’t necessarily mean they are familiar with all of it.  The University asked me to lecture on subjects that I’m uniquely suited to discuss, or that the average Asari isn’t likely to be deeply familiar with.”

“Are all of your lessons related to your personal war experience?”

“Not all, though they’re almost exclusively about Alliance actions.  I also teach a course on early human space flight; pre-Prothean Discovery stuff.”  She paused, “And I co-chair a seminar on old-Earth cinema, but that’s more of a hobby.  We’ve got that tied in with the local high schools, gives me a chance to spend more time with Sam.”

“Really?”

“Well, they don’t call them high schools here, but it’s the same idea.”

“No, I meant the cinema thing.  I noticed your library.  I hadn’t realized you taught a course on it.  Or that your family was into it as well.”

“Sam is.  Liara could take it or leave it.  I think _Alien_ really turned her off to sci-fi, though Sam eats it up.”  She shook her head, “If only real aliens were that simple.”

They passed a pair of Asari walking in the opposite direction.  One of them said, “Good _morning_ Admiral,” the other winked. 

Cynthia was silent for a few moments, “What the hell was that about?”

Shepard smirked, “Yeah, that.”  She looked over her shoulder, as well as her synthetic cervical discs would allow at any rate, and observed.  One of the Asari was backpedaling and looking at her ass.  “Some members of the _student_ body seem to have a thing for _my_ body.”  Cynthia arched her eyebrow.  “Ehh.  With Maidens like that, it’s almost cute.  The Matrons are the worst!”

“What do you mean, Admiral?”

Shepard switched her ‘world’s greatest mom’ coffee mug to the other hand and spoke, “The Maidens who flirt with me, well _try_ to flirt since I’m a one Asari woman, are pretty similar to human students in that regard.  Ranges from a mild crush to just being young and horny.  Most of them just want to nail the _Savior of the Citadel_ and brag about it to their friends.”  Victoria looked Cynthia in the face; she seemed to be following if a bit surprised.  “They’re easy to refuse.  Unless they’re persistent, I just tell them I’m flattered but they should bark up another tree.  Of course then they have to go look up that idiom,” she chuckled.

“And if they’re persistent?”

“Then I’m less nice,” Victoria said, coldly.

Cynthia’s silence was all the acknowledgement she needed.  “Matrons, though.  They want _babies!_ ” she laughed.  “They’ve hit the phase where they’re looking to settle down and start a family.  Sometimes they want to start it with me.  Usually they just want to _tap_ me for conception.  Apparently they like my _charisma_ , or some such nonsense.”  She laughed again despite herself.  She was actually surprised how personal she was getting with Cynthia.  _Maybe she isn’t that bad after all._   “In the end, I handle them the same way as the Maidens.”

“What about Matriarchs?”

“They’re actually very low key,” she paused, “another phrase they usually need to look up.  In general they’re past the phase of their life where they’re looking to raise more children, and they’re usually mature enough to read between the lines and realize I’m not for the taking for something more casual.”

“Sounds like there might be an exception or two there.”

“Very observant.”  She favored Cynthia with a less than icy look.  “Occasionally I’ll be approached by a Matriarch, and she’ll ask me _and_ Liara if I’ll give her a baby.”  Cynthia’s eyes went wide momentarily.  “They’re always very civil, never less than polite.  They explain to both of us how they don’t want me to be involved in her daughter’s life unless she seeks me out as an adult.  They explain how, even though it doesn’t _exactly_ work that way, my influence on her daughter’s makeup would be beneficial to her and the universe at large.”

“They actually say that?” asked Cynthia, almost interrupting.

Shepard let it slide, “Yes.  They’re _mature_ enough to see the big picture,” she deployed a substantial set of ‘air quotes’ to accentuate that point, “Basically, _they know best_.  They _try_ not to sound condescending when they tell me that.  Liara and I usually tell them how _honored_ we are that they asked, and send them on their way.”

“Usually?”

“No, I haven’t _fathered_ any other children.  Though, we have given it more than casual consideration, _once_.”  Shepard paused and fixed her with a moderately serious stare, “That doesn’t make it into your movie.”

Cynthia seemed to wither, and gulped. 

Shepard turned away from her and smirked.

*****

Shepard’s lectures were held in one of the history department’s other buildings.  It almost seemed, to Cynthia at least, that it was the building farthest from Shepard’s office.  Shepard’s students were standing in the hallway waiting for the lecture hall to be vacated by the previous class.  Entering the building she noticed two things.  First, every Asari present, and there actually were a couple of non-Asari students, were wearing traditional Asari gowns.  There were no sweatshirts here.  Second, _where are all the dumpy couches?_   Then the Asari in the sweatshirt walked in.

Shepard looked at her knowingly.  She arched an eyebrow.  “Situational awareness is a prerequisite for surviving combat.  What have you observed?”

 _Click._   “Someone is messing with you.”

Shepard favored her with a smile.  “Well done,” she said, approvingly.  “Break it down for me.”

Cynthia pondered for a moment.  “You’re the only human on the faculty.  You lecture from a position of authority to women who are an order of magnitude older than you, yet you hold no doctorate yourself.  You’ve got Asari from all life-stages throwing themselves at you.  Oh, and they’re making a movie about you.”  She smiled.  “Human, alien, it doesn’t really matter; that’s enough to get someone jealous, jealous enough to mess with you.”

Shepard’s smirk, widened, “Go on.”

 _I knew it!_   _I’m also going to have to get that smirk down,_ she thought.  Cynthia turned away from the Admiral to look at the Asari in the sweatshirt.  While she wasn’t an expert on Asari, they didn’t _exactly_ ‘all look alike’ to her.  _Looks like a maiden._   Cynthia played her hunch, “The woman in the sweatshirt is obviously wearing it in jest.  Everyone else is in traditional garb.  Your office is a closet in the one building, or is it just part of that one building, that looks like a college back on Earth.  Everything else on campus is immaculate and in that sweeping style that the Asari are so fond of.  Your office is as far away from your lecture hall as possible.  It’s also the only place I saw vending machines.” 

 _I’m on to something, this is fun!_ thought Cynthia.  She continued, growing giddier as she went, “The woman in the sweatshirt looks like a Maiden.  Well, so far as I can tell anyway.  She wouldn’t have the power to put all that into place.  No, she’s doing that because that’s all she _can_ do.  I’d say she was being immature, but she’s probably three or more times my age.”  Shepard merely nodded. 

“She was in the hallway when I got to your office.  She might have been coming out of your office.  Hum, someone who doesn’t like you, but needed to see you in your office anyway.  Sounds like a student to me.  Something tells me, though, that she wouldn’t be _just_ a student.  A regular student wouldn’t have developed enough of a gripe with you to dress so oddly.  Oddly for an Asari, anyway.”  She paused for a moment in thought, and then plowed ahead, “She’s majoring in history, perhaps even human history.  She _needs_ to deal with you.”  Cynthia paused, “She’s your TA?”  Shepard nodded.

“She’s your TA and you’re either her thesis advisor or you’re in some other special position of authority over her.  She resents the hell out of that, doesn’t she?”  Shepard nodded again.  “Bonus points if she had a crush on you.”

“Still does.  She’s actually been fairly good at masking her disappointment.  Go on,” commanded the Admiral.

“So she’s a TA.  Definitely doesn’t have the authority to shove you into a purpose built cage on the far side of campus.”  Shepard arched an eyebrow at that description.  Cynthia still had difficulty reading the Admiral’s facial expressions, but she thought it was something along the lines of _bemused agreement._   “You must have pissed off someone in a position of power.”

Cynthia stopped.  Shepard’s smirk had changed to a more _annoyed_ expression.  She turned to look at what Shepard had focused on.  A Matriarch had just entered the hallway.  The other students stiffened up somewhat.  None of them bowed or saluted, but there was a definite sense of _deference_ towards her.

Suddenly Shepard was speaking into her ear.  “That was very well done Miss Wright.  Try doing that with bullets flying past your head and then you’re in business.”  She snapped her fingers loudly next to her other ear to everyone’s surprise.  Shepard leaned back and fixed Cynthia in her stare.  It was _the killer_.  Then it was gone.  “That’s Matriarch Lidanya.  She’s the chair of the history department, and former commander of the _Destiny Ascension_.”

One last gambit, “She’s also the one Matriarch that you gave more than _casual consideration_ to.”

Shepard’s facial expression was all the confirmation she needed.

*****

 _Son of a bitch, that was insightful._   She immediately recomposed.  Shepard was actually impressed.  She looked over Cynthia’s shoulder to see the previous class shuffling out of the lecture hall.  _Time to get this dog and pony show on the road,_ she thought.  _Aww shit, here she comes._

“Admiral Shepard,” said Matriarch Lidanya, approaching, “I’m looking forward to hearing about your exploits during the Blitz.”

“ _Captain_ Lidanya,” Shepard nodded, _the sparring has begun,_ “a pleasure as always.  I didn’t expect you to join us.”  It’s not that the Admiral didn’t like Matriarch Lidanya, in fact she was quite fond of her, she just tended to cause trouble in her classes.  _On purpose_ , she was sure.

Lidanya had a keen insight to all matters military, _no wonder, she’s been in the armed forces since before gunpowder weapons really caught on back on Earth._   She was also adroit at asking all the wrong, well _right_ really, questions about the human engagements she lectured on.  _And don’t ever get her started on the brushfire wars of the early 21 st Century,_ she thought.  The one engagement that she never picked on, however, was the Battle of Luna.  _That_ was out of bounds.  Part of her wished the Matriarch would, she would like to go toe to toe with her on why her mother was a fucking hero.

“And you must be Miss Wright.  I’ve heard so much about you.  I like your work.”  She paused, and smiled evenly, “I especially liked the film on the first mission to Mars.  It was so, _quaint_.”

“Thank you Matriarch, I think,” said Cynthia, haltingly.

“I do hope you find a seat next to me for the lecture.  I’m interested to hear a fellow human’s take on the Admiral’s teaching style.”  With that, she actually winked at Shepard, turned gracefully, and walked towards the lecture hall.”

“I take it you and the Matriarch don’t get along, Admiral?” asked Cynthia.

“Actually, we’re very close friends, _as you’ve inferred_.  She just causes trouble for me since the 5 th Fleet and I had to pull her blue ass out of the fire at the First Battle of the Citadel.”

“So the whole far-side-of-campus thing is just in fun?”

Shepard just nodded.

“And the TA too?”

“No.  She’s genuinely pissed at me because I wouldn’t fuck her.”

Cynthia was taken aback; the Admiral hadn’t said anything crude in her presence before.  _Good, keep her on her toes._ “I told you the Asari were strange.  Now let’s get this show on the road.”

*****

Cynthia walked up the amphitheater-style steps towards the rear of the lecture hall.  There were roughly thirty Asari of varying life-stages, mostly Maidens, in Shepard’s class.  Walking past the students she had the feeling that she was being _sized up_.  _Who is she, she shouldn’t be here_ , said the students’ eyes.  She was an interloper.  She didn’t belong.  It was not a pleasant feeling.  She spotted Lidanya who smiled and motioned for her to take the seat next to her. 

 _That Lidanya is a predator, just like Shepard._ Where Shepard was an amazon with the muscled build of a tri-athlete, Matriarch Lidanya was small, almost petite, with a wiry physique.  From a distance she could have mistaken her for a barely mature Maiden.  But, up close, she had a weathered face with an incongruously bright set of tattooed spots.  Her skin was dark, almost purple.  And _the eyes!_  She had the same _killer’s eyes_ as Shepard.    

 _There’s power in that little frame,_ thought Cynthia, _and not just physical._   The Matriarch had to be at least 800 years old.  Like virtually all Asari she was probably strongly biotic, but Cynthia got the distinct impression that the Matriarch was fully capable of killing her _the old fashioned way_.  _And she’s done it,_ of that Cynthia was sure.

As if sensing her apprehension, the Matriarch spoke, “Don’t worry Miss Wright, I don’t bite.”  Like the few other Matriarchs she had met, Lidanya had the ability to be completely disarming at will.  She smiled, patted the seat next to her, and said, “Pull up a chair, the show is about to start.”  Cynthia did as commanded, she was sure that the Matriarch could go from _disarmingly friendly_ to _cold blooded killer_ like flipping a switch.  “So, what do you think of our legendary hero down there?”

Cynthia looked to the base of the lecture hall; Shepard was conferring with her TA.  The students sat in comfortable chairs.  There were no desk surfaces; everyone used their omni-tools to take notes.  “She’s a piece of work, ma’am.  May I ask, why did she call you _Captain_?”

The Matriarch grunted in amusement.  “Yes, the _Admiral_ likes to remind me that I only ever reached the rank of captain.  Doesn’t matter to her that I commanded the most powerful ship in the galaxy and a crew of 10,000.  Or that she was retired immediately after getting her star.  But that’s part of her charm, isn’t it?”  She looked at the actress; the _killer’s eyes_ were back.  Cynthia got the feeling that she was being _evaluated_. 

Apparently she was not found wanting for the Matriarch spoke, “Shepard is an amazing person.  You’d do well to learn everything you can from her.  Women like that only come around once in a,” she paused, “ _blue moon_ ; I believe your expression is.”  She sounded almost _wistful_.  This was not the reaction Cynthia expected.

*****

“…What you first need to take into account was the prevailing psychology of the Systems Alliance during late 2160s and 2170s _and_ how the galaxy at large viewed us in the aftermath of what you all call the _Relay 314 Incident_.”  Shepard spoke that last phrase with a mild sneer.  Cynthia had to admit, the Admiral knew her material and she was a very engaging lecturer.  She was actually learning quite a bit about human history, not exactly the education she was anticipating from tailing Shepard.

“The First Contact War,” Shepard sounded more comfortable with that term, “was still fresh in everyone’s minds.  Humanity had suddenly gone from riding high on the thrill of interstellar exploration to the terror of an existential threat from an alien species.  Until recently, in our culture, that sort of thing was reserved for science fiction.”  The entire class was well aware of the old Earth cinema seminar Admiral Shepard co-chaired.  “Now that we had earned ourselves a place, albeit a small one, in the galactic community, we were looking for the opportunity to prove ourselves.  To use a human phrase, we wanted to get our _mojo_ back.”  A number of Maidens queried the term on their omni-tools and smiled.  Cynthia didn’t doubt these women knew a thing or two about _mojo_.

“The Systems Alliance wanted to expand humanity’s holdings in space, and show the galactic community that we were here to stay and thrive.  And, at the very least, provide some _strategic depth_ in case we had to face off against an alien power again.”  Matriarch Lidanya moved to raise her hand to make a comment, but the Admiral beat her to it.  “Thus, and rightly so, we began to earn our reputation as an aggressive race of _borderline_ bullies.”  She looked towards the Matriarch and smiled, “Of course we all saw just how handy that came in a few years back, didn’t we.”  She winked.  _Shepard sure likes twisting the knife,_ thought Cynthia.

Lidanya leaned back in her seat with a scowl.  Then she grinned and leaned over to Cynthia, “I do love her lectures.  We’re just getting warmed up.”

“It was that mindset that brought us into the Skyllian Verge, and into conflict with the Batarians.  Elysium was our crown jewel in the Verge, and the Alliance was willing to do what it needed to do to hang onto it.

“Similarly, the Batarian Hegemony wanted to expand its own holdings.  The situation was exacerbated by the fact that we had made inroads into galactic society _much_ more quickly than they ever did.  We were _upstarts_ , and they wanted to put us in line.”

“Admiral Shepard,” Matriarch Lidanya spoke up, “Is it standard Alliance procedure to leave such strategically valuable installations as under-protected as Elysium was during the Blitz?  Or were you just overextended?”

*****

Shepard smiled, _she’s taking it easy on me today.  Suits me just fine._

“Indeed.  As Matriarch Lidanya points out, Elysium was vastly under-defended considering its strategic importance.”  She paused expectantly, apparently Lidanya was going to let her make the lesson herself today, “Now, this was not _just_ a function of human hubris.  Primarily it was a political decision to keep military forces in the area to a bare minimum in an attempt to avoid antagonizing the Batarian Hegemony.

“This tactic, unfortunately, is not without precedent in human history.  Over two hundred years ago my ancestors waged a decade long conflict under the mistaken doctrine of gradual escalation.”  Her TA had actually just finished an extremely insightful study into the Vietnam War back on Earth during the 20th.  _She even found records of three of her ancestors who served in the conflict.  One of them died in a place called the Mekong Delta._   “Unfortunately, we humans do not live for a thousand years.  If we did,” she nodded respectfully to the Matriarch, “we probably wouldn’t have made the error twice.”

Shepard waited for the quip from the Matriarch.  She _loved_ pointing out military stupidity in human history.  Today, however, she just didn’t seem to want to engage.  “Thus, Elysium was left bare.  Just enough of a military presence to keep low level pirate activity at bay, but nothing more.  So, as we humans say, _it was only a matter of time_.”

*****

“And this, Miss Wright, is where we learn the story of _Viking Vikki_ ,” whispered the Matriarch into Cynthia’s ear.  _Shit, how did she get so close to me?  She’s so quiet._   Cynthia had done enough research to know that Shepard _hated_ that nickname.  She would never have dreamed of calling her that to her face.  _I suppose the Matriarch has earned a_ little _leeway when it comes to stuff like that._

Shepard tapped her omni-tool and a large holographic display of the capital city of Elysium, Illyria, appeared above her.  “At 0230 Elysium Standard Time, a force of some 10,000 pirates and slavers with heavy financial backing from the Batarian Hegemony and Batarian pirate units from the Terminus Systems under the command of Elanos Haliat launched coordinated strikes on Alliance deep-space tracking and aerospace defense units scattered about Illyria.”  Red icons denoting the Batarian forces moved about the holographic display.  Small blue icons, the Alliance forces, winked out one by one. 

“Elysium’s defenses were effectively blinded in the first 6 minutes.  Communications between forces on the ground devolved to point-to-point omni-tool messages, and the uplink to the FTL Comm-Buoy network was cut almost immediately.  A fair number of Illyria’s anti-aerospace weapons platforms actually survived the first wave, but all of their targeting and command and control systems were taken offline.  _SSV Agincourt_ , our only warship in orbit, found herself mobbed by enemy ships and initially unable to aid in the groundside defense.

“Also of note is that the opening assaults specifically targeted Alliance military facilities and housing.  Within the first thirty seconds of the attack the local armory, barracks, and officers’ club were destroyed.  The surviving groundside Alliance forces numbered less than a hundred, scattered throughout the city, led by a single Lieutenant Junior Grade.”

She paused.  Everyone in the room knew who that young officer was.

Shepard continued, speaking quickly but methodically.  Using her omni-tool she pointed out all major points of interest and engagements.  She dissected the Batarian assault highlighting mistakes and successes.  She spoke with _respect_ , the Batarians knew their business.  _The killer_ was speaking.  But it wasn’t _just_ the killer _._   Shepard was the tribal elder teaching children.  She was the warrior priestess instructing acolytes in the art of battle.  Cynthia looked at the Matriarch through the corner of her eye, she _approved_.  Then she smiled, leaned forward, and spoke, “Admiral Shepard, may I ask a question?”

Shepard paused the playback on the hologram and nodded respectfully to the Matriarch.  From her facial expression, Cynthia could tell Shepard knew Lidanya was about to pull something.  Deference to a Matriarch, however, limited what Shepard could do to stop it.

“What were you doing when this was happening?”

*****

 _Game on._   “I was on shore leave.  Surely you were 22 once Matriarch Lidanya.”  She smiled knowingly.  “A young soldier on leave in an exotic location; doesn’t take much imagination to know what I was up to.”  She let that hang there a moment.  Then she shot a glance to her TA.  She seemed _lost in thought_ at the idea.

“So, after you pulled your pants on, what did you do?”

Shepard couldn’t resist, “Who said I had time to get dressed?”  A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd.  Shepard smiled and looked to the rear of the lecture hall.  Her face hardened and she said, “Miss Wright!”  The entire class jumped at the sound, she was using the _command voice._   All eyes turned to the human woman at the back of the hall, she looked uncomfortable.  “What is the N7 slogan?”

Cynthia squirmed under the class’ scrutiny.  _Come on Miss Wright,_ Shepard thought.  Matriarch Lidanya crossed her arms over her breasts and smiled at the actress.  Cynthia stood.  _Don’t let me down,_ thought Shepard.  _Say it with feeling!_   “Improvise!  Adapt!  Overcome!”  Cynthia seemed surprised at the volume of her own voice.

“Ooh-rah!  Well said Miss Wright.  That’s exactly what we did.”  Shepard reactivated the holographic playback.  “Under my command, a few score of Alliance soldiers, augmented by the local militia, set up a defensive perimeter in downtown Illyria.”  The view centered on the city and blue ‘friendly’ emblems popped into place.  “Small teams of soldiers, usually six or less, struck out at the Batarian forces as they tried to bring heavy weapons to bear on us.”

*****

Shepard spoke with energy.  She engaged her students.  They responded positively.  Cynthia was actually beginning to enjoy the lesson.  “We knew we couldn’t keep fighting for very long, but the colony’s survival depended on us holding out long enough for the fleet to arrive.  So, I decided to _improvise_.”  She paused, “Matriarch Lidanya,” Shepard asked, “What are Asari commandos trained to do in the face of an overwhelming enemy force?”

Lidanya looked put out.  Cynthia got the distinct impression that she liked putting Shepard on the spot, not the other way around.  Still, she had pride enough not to give the Admiral the satisfaction.  “Our commando sisters do much as you did on Elysium.  They harass the enemy, destroy supply lines and depots, and disable lines of communications.  They kill, destroy, and maim.  Generally they’re trained to make life, let alone continued operations, impossible for their enemies.”

“Indeed,” said Shepard.  “If humans are good at one thing, it’s making life miserable for other organisms.”  She smiled.  Another laugh rippled through the crowd.

Then, Shepard stopped smiling.  _The killer is back,_ thought Cynthia.  She shot a glance to the Matriarch; she met her gaze and nodded.  Cynthia got the impression that the Matriarch was expecting this.  _Now the_ actual _lesson begins,_ she thought.  Shepard’s tone cooled as the holograph played through the rest of the battle.  The blue ‘friendly’ forces repeatedly harassed the numerically superior Batarian units.  “Alliance and local militia units hit the Batarians ‘round the clock.  We blew up munitions dumps and torched supplies.  We ambushed Batarian patrols and lobbed improvised mortars at their mechanized units.  We did anything and _everything_ we could to fight back.” 

Shepard’s tone changed again.  “We liberated slave pens the Batarians had set up.  What ones we could, at any rate.  They _actually_ made the mistake of diverting forces from destroying the resistance to rounding up slaves for trade within the Hegemony.”  Shepard sounded incredulous.  “They were impatient, they were sacking the colony before it was subdued,” she said coldly.  “What slave pens we couldn’t liberate,” she paused, “we destroyed.  We killed dozens of humans in the process.  It was better than allowing them to be taken.  Still, we didn’t stop them all.”  The lecture hall became very quiet.

“We broke into Batarian bases and killed them in their sleep; sometimes explosives, often times knives since they were quiet.  We set fire to a Batarian field hospital and shot the doctors and the patients as they fled the burning building.”  She paused and regarded the class severely, “Some of the injured Batarians came out of the hospital with their bandages on fire.  We shot them in their knees and let them burn to death.”

The class looked horrified.  Lidanya merely nodded.  _Holy shit,_ thought Cynthia, she couldn’t muster anything more complex than, _holy shit_.  “At this point,” Shepard said in a detached, almost clinical, tone, “familiarity with one more aspect of human psychology is useful.”  She paused and looked at the class.  Then she looked Cynthia in the eyes.  Cynthia looked into the face of death.  “Humans hold a grudge like no other race in this galaxy.”  She paused again, “Including the Krogan.”  Shepard nodded to the two non-Asari students, a pair of Turian general officers.  They were evaluating the lecture for inclusion in the curriculum at the Hierarchy’s senior War College.  Their mouth parts twitched.

“If you don’t believe me, look up the events of the 6th and 9th of August, 1945 on the human calendar.  Humans are one of only two races in Citadel Space to ever wage nuclear war against itself.  The other is the _Krogan_.  The Asari should feel blessed that they never invented the ghastly things.  The Turians equally so that they had the presence of mind to not use them when they did invent them.”  She nodded to the generals, their mouth parts twitched again despite themselves.  Shepard let the resulting silence linger.  “The lesson to be drawn from Elysium isn’t just one in military tactics or colonial philosophy.  Elysium is a teachable moment in human psychology, tenacity, resolve, and _brutality_.”

*****

“Admiral Shepard?” asked the Matriarch.

“Yes Matriarch Lidanya?”

“Was this _grudge_ over the slaves that the Batarians _did_ manage to take from Elysium the reason the resulting Torfan Campaign was so brutal?”  The Matriarch had decided to help Shepard drive this lesson home.

Shepard thought back to the defense of Elysium.  She remembered the shock of going from a drunk and naked junior officer to commander of all planetary forces in the blink of an eye.  She remembered the slave pens, packed with terrified civilians, crying out in fear, covered in their own filth.  She remembered watching a Batarian slaver bludgeon a young woman to death for trying to hide her toddler.  The dull wet thudding sound of the Batarian’s cudgel pulping the woman’s skull mixed with the high pitched wail of her young daughter in her mind.  _I’ll remember that to my dying day._   In fact, sometimes, in her nightmares it was Samara who was wailing.

Shepard couldn’t save them all.  She decided then and there, in that very moment, that she’d rather kill her own people then let them be taken.  It was better that they die free than live as slaves to these _monsters_.  She called in more than one mortar strike with that grim calculus in mind.

She developed such a profound rage against the Batarians.  She wanted them dead, _all of them_ , and as an N7 soldier she was adept at making that a reality.  Shepard threw herself bodily into the defense of Elysium.  She reveled in the slaughter.  Every slaver she shot in the street, every Batarian she stabbed in his sleep was one less that could take children screaming from their mothers.  _The more brutal the better_ , Shepard had thought, _anything to make the Batarians realize they couldn’t win and abandon the attack._

Destroying the Batarian field hospital was a personal highpoint for her.  _One war crime to repay another,_ she remembered enjoying the irony.  The Batarians had come to prey on the helpless, and she would do the same.  Once set, it didn’t take long for the fire to spread.  The doctors and patients came tumbling out of every door and window.  One of the militiamen said it was like playing _whack-a-mole_ shooting them as they appeared.  As the fire grew more intense some of the more injured patients overcame their wounds to flee the heat.  Shepard remembered quite clearly seeing a heavily bandaged Batarian come hobbling out of the hospital, bandages aflame and arms flailing.  She had shot him in the knees and listened to him scream as he burned to death.  _She had smiled._   The Batarians had started their withdrawal shortly after that particular engagement.

 “Yes, Matriarch.  It was one of the reasons.”

 “Would you have acted differently if you were in command of the Torfan forces?”

Shepard remembered that it had taken over a month for the nightmares to start.  Not the nightmares about losing comrades or watching civilians brutalized by Batarian slavers.  Those dreams had started during the battle.  It was the _other_ nightmares.  The nightmares of what she has _seen_ paled in comparison to those of what she had _done_.

She remembered the night she had been awarded her first _Star of Terra_.  After the ceremony and reception she had screamed so loudly in her sleep that her mother had heard her through the bulkhead of their adjacent suites on Arcturus Station.  She had told ‘Commander Hannah’ what _really_ happened; the details of her actions were toned down for the press.  Her mother said she understood.  Otherwise _good_ people often did things they weren’t proud of under stress.  She said she would have done the same, _for what it was worth_.

But it wasn’t the actions themselves which haunted Shepard.  Rather, it was the feelings associated with them.  She had _enjoyed_ it, _reveled_ in it!  She had murdered, and she _liked it_.  She made them _pay_ for what they did!  Victoria had spent years processing her feelings.  Eventually she came to grips with it.  Then she had to do, what had become for her, the unthinkable.  She had to destroy the entire Bahak System.  She killed nearly 300,000 Batarians to prevent, delay really, a Reaper invasion. 

In both cases she felt that she did what needed to be done.  What she did wasn’t the _right_ thing to do, but the _only_ thing to do.  These experiences had steeled her somewhat for the horror that would be the Reaper War.  Long before the war started, Shepard had resolved to herself to do those hard things so others didn’t have to.  Sometimes the situation required that you leave your humanity at the door.  Still, she couldn’t shake something she had read once in a philosophy book; _battle not with monsters lest ye become a monster; and if you gaze into the abyss the abyss gazes into you_.

Shepard didn’t respond for several seconds.  “No, ma’am,” she said flatly.  “I would have done it the same way.”

*****

“Admiral,” one of the Asari students raised her hand, “You’re saying it was the Alliance forces’ brutalizing of the Batarians that was the main reason for their rapid withdrawal?  And that you carried out your relentless campaign against them with that _very result_ in mind?”

“Exactly.”

 _Holy shit!_   Cynthia was floored.  Could the Alliance’s hero-of-heroes really be this cold hearted?  Torfan was _brutal_ ; would Shepard really have done it?  Cynthia tried to reconcile what she’d just heard with what she thought she knew about Admiral Shepard.  She just couldn’t fathom it; then she felt a _presence_.

“Food for thought?” asked the Matriarch.  She spoke directly into her ear.  _Shit, how does she get so close without me noticing?_   Leaning back, “That’s the correct expression, yes?”  Cynthia could only manage a nod; the Matriarch had _the killer_ look about her.  _Just like the Admiral._   “The real question is,” the Matriarch continued, “Is the Admiral Shepard the galaxy loves and reveres as a savior a hero in spite of her actions on Elysium?  Or because of them?”

Cynthia could only manage a blank facial expression while she pondered that.  She looked down to the front of the lecture hall.  Shepard acted like what she had just said was as plain and simple as reporting the weather.  “Any questions?” she took a sip from her ‘world’s greatest mom’ coffee mug and looked at the class over the brim.  Not seeing any raised hands she said, “Very well, class dismissed.”

The class shuffled out of the lecture hall in silence.


	4. Shepard the Soldier

Shepard the Soldier:

 _Sometimes I can play her like a violin_ , thought Shepard.  _Of course, then she’d ask me what a violin was._   Liara wondered at the Martian Archives, their fight from yesterday was all but forgotten.  Shepard understood where Liara was coming from, of course, but Samara was so eager to see Earth again _and_ the ‘boot camp’ that Cynthia Wright had put together.  Liara wanted to shield Samara from their violent, and _terrifying,_ pasts.  Frankly, Shepard wanted the same.  She and Liara had put themselves through that hell in the hope that someday they could raise their children in peace and happiness.  Anything that harkened back to that _unhappy_ time was to be avoided.  Their daughter had no place in it. 

But still, Shepard was so _proud_ of what she and her beloved had done, and Samara was so _interested_.  Victoria wanted her daughter to have an appreciation for how much her parents loved her, and how lucky she was to live in a galaxy without the Reapers.  _And any time I can spend with Sam, regardless of what we’re doing, is time well spent,_ thought Shepard.

Liara pressed her nose to the double-paned ballistic glass looking out onto the Martian surface and its Prothean ruins.  She looked like a child staring into a candy store.  Her exhalation formed small patches of fog on the cold glass with each breath.  Shepard smiled to herself, _she certainly glows when she’s happy._   More often than not, Shepard and Liara could open doors by virtue of what they’d done in the past.  _Being galactic heroes certainly has its uses._   But for visiting the Prothean ruins on Mars, wartime fame had been redundant.  Liara was a published and well regarded academic authority on the Prothean Extinction.  The curator of the Archives wondered aloud what took her so long to visit.  Liara had shot a look to her mate; Shepard had taken her sweet time in bringing her.  Suddenly Shepard thought, _who played who?_

Victoria stood beside her wife.  The Martian landscape was beautiful in its desolation.  Aside from a couple of Prothean structures, the majority of the site was underground, there were no discernible landmarks for hundreds of kilometers.  Wispy high altitude clouds slowly marched across the reddish sky.  “Love, will you be ok without us for a few days?”

Liara could barely pull her attention from the scenery, “Uh-huh.”

“Well, have a good time.  We’ll be back home before you.  See you in a week, my love.”  Victoria kissed Liara on the cheek; her wife didn’t even seem to notice, she was so engrossed with the scenery.  Shepard had to get Samara home so she could get some more practices in with her band before the concert.

Suddenly, Liara pulled her face away from the glass and looked at Shepard.  Her expression was serious, “Don’t let our baby get _hurt_.”  The last word was loaded with multiple meanings.  Liara wasn’t just concerned about the mountaineering Shepard had planned with their daughter.

“I’ll be fine Mother.  Please don’t call me a baby!”  Samara had a keen sense of hearing.

Liara looked at Shepard for a few more seconds.  Confident her message had sunk in; she turned to look at Samara.  Her expression softened.  “You’ll always be our baby girl Samara.  It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Samara crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head.  She was at that age where everything her parents did, though mostly Liara, embarrassed her.  She desperately wanted to be treated as an adult.  Even if she were human, though, she’d still have a few years to go.  Asari weren’t considered full adult until they were nearly a century old.  Shepard didn’t know if she could handle a century long childhood.

“We’ll be fine, beloved,” Shepard said.  She looked at Samara, “Let’s go Sam.”

Liara shook her head, she didn’t like Shepard shortening Samara’s name.

*****

 _This is all wrong._   The individual details, obviously, were correct, but not in this context.  Shepard looked at a stunningly realistic reproduction the spaceport on Eden Prime, complete with the atomic demolition devices she had disarmed.  It was so eerie.  At the far end of the reproduction was the Prothean beacon that had started it all.  _Holy shit, this is where it all started.  The whole sorry mess, it began right_ here _on Eden Prime._  

Shepard was crouched behind a cargo container trading fire with a pair of Geth.  Arrayed about her, taking cover behind other obstructions, were Garrus, Liara, Tali’Zora, Alenko, Ash, and Wrex; her whole team from the original Normandy.  The fact that the team hadn’t yet been assembled when she fought on Eden Prime just added to the un-realness.

But it wasn’t her.  Nor was it any of her other friends.  These were all doubles, surrogates.  That was Cynthia Wright wearing a replica of her old N7 Combat Armor.  _She looks so much like me!_ That was U’nara T’noal from _Vaenia_ dressed like Liara.  The stand-ins for Wrex, Garrus, Ash, and Alenko only bore passing resemblances.  But Tali, Shepard shuddered, _this is all wrong_.

 _‘Tali’_ was obviously a different Quarian.  The _real_ Tali was long dead, _hell, half of them are_ really _dead_.  The Quarian actress had Tali’s build, and her environment suit was a perfect replica of the one Tali wore during the war.  Shepard wept internally at the loss of a dear friend.  She still had nightmares of Tali’s death.  _I can still hear her screaming_ , Shepard lamented to herself.

Apparently, it showed on her face.  Samara squeezed her hand gently.  Victoria returned to herself.  “I love you so much Sam,” she said.  She smiled.  Samara and Liara were her entire world; she could overcome any bad memory when she was with them.  Samara released her grip as her _father_ placed her arm around her shoulders.  Shepard gently kissed the top of her head.  She giggled.  Samara’s scalp folds were ticklish. 

 _Keep it together Shepard,_ Victoria thought to herself, _for Sam’s sake at least._

There was a _presence_.  “Admiral Shepard?”

Shepard turned to regard Command Master Chief Petty Officer, Alliance Navy [Retired], Everett Drake.  He was not the stereotypical drill instructor, at least according to films.  Aside from a certain _intensity_ in his demeanor, Command Master Chief Drake was unremarkable; perhaps slightly more fit than your average person.  Drake stood slightly shorter than Shepard and he was a bit wirier than the Admiral, but he carried himself with the same level of confidence as Victoria.

“Command Master Chief,” Shepard held her hand out before he could try to snap off a salute, “a pleasure.”

Her hand was accepted with a firm grip.  “Same to you ma’am.” 

Shepard was glad she didn’t have to deal with any hero-worship, but she hadn’t really anticipated any.  Drake was a professional soldier; probably had more than twice the time in than Shepard did.  He was too mature for it.  They both regarded each other was warriors deserving each other’s respect, and left it at that.  “This is my daughter Samara,” she said motioning to Sam.

Drake’s stern face melted into a genuine smile, like most senior enlisted men he could turn the ‘drill instructor routine’ on and off like a switch.  “Pleasure to meet you Miss Samara.  I have a little girl about your age.  Not quite as blue, though.”  He smiled.

Shepard couldn’t help but like the man.  She’d read Drake’s file, the Shadow Broker had forwarded it to her.  He was a very competent and well regarded soldier.  He’d fought bravely and pulled off a genuine miracle extracting a company of Turian marines under fire from Reapers during the fighting on Palaven; all that despite having lost both his legs during N7 training.  After the war he’d taken a series of instructor positions, including a stint as head instructor at the Interplanetary Combatives Academy.  Honestly, this gig was beneath him; but the Navy was grateful to have a pro helping the actors get their roles right.  Besides, anyone who was kind to her daughter was okay in her book.

“How are your students?” asked Shepard.  Victoria kept a friendly tone, but it was obvious she was here to speak business.

“Improving,” Drake responded.  “The Turian and the Krogan were already pretty good, necessarily.  The Asari was apparently trained as a huntress before she got into porno.”

“Porno you say?” asked Samara with a grin.

Shepard elbowed her daughter and shot her a look, “Would you please let me think of you as a little girl a _bit_ longer?”  Samara stuck her tongue out at her.  Drake chuckled.  “Oh, and you’re not nearly as good at covering your tracks on the extranet as you think you are.”  Samara’s facial expression changed to one of embarrassment, she looked at her shoes.  Shepard smirked, _she takes after me more than I’d like to admit_.

“Miss Wright asked me to drop in and see how you’re all doing.  I don’t want to step on your toes.  How’d you like to play this?”

Drake pondered that for a moment, but only a moment.  “I stopped the whole shouting routine after day three.  They’re quick learners, it wasn’t necessary anymore.  They were all very eager to learn and get this thing right.  However,” he paused, “they’re starting to get sloppy, cocky almost.  One of them wasn’t handling their rifle safely.  Dummy rifle or not,” he trailed off.  Everett turned to look at Victoria, “I’m sure some _constructive criticism_ from the great hero wouldn’t go unappreciated, ma’am.”  He smiled.  “I’ll be honest.  I’m actually looking forward to seeing you in action.”

“Me too mom,” said Samara in her high-pitched voice.  She smiled at her _father_.

Shepard looked at her daughter.  Sometimes she couldn’t help but shake her head at the resemblance she bore to her late grandmother.  That such a cheerful voice and smile could come from the Matriarch Benezia’s face was incongruous to say the least.  Not that it mattered, Shepard adored Samara.  Her appearance didn’t even enter into it.

Still, Shepard was conflicted.  She didn’t want her to see _Viking Vikki_.  She wanted her to remain innocent, insulated from the past.  _Then why did you bring her?_ Shepard thought to herself.  She knew the answer, of course.  Just, now that they were here, she was having second thoughts.  Samara needed to see, she needed to know.  History needed to be real.  How else could one hope to learn from it?  Also, and Shepard didn’t want to admit it to herself, she secretly _did_ hope Samara would take after her.  On an intellectual level she abhorred the thought; she wanted her daughter to live a long and peaceful life.  But, deep down, she hoped Sam would follow in the ‘family tradition’.  _Liara would murder me if she ever heard me say that aloud,_ she thought.

Shepard’s introspection was interrupted by some shouting.

*****

Simulated rifle rounds pierced the air over Cynthia Wright’s head.  These Geth units weren’t giving up.  _Their desire to keep living shows me no_ r _espect_ , Cynthia remembered the line from a classic cartoon.  This was supposed to be their graduation exercise.  They’d fought through Admiral Shepard’s entire Eden Prime mission.  All that was left was to seize and hold the Prothean Beacon.  ‘Boot Camp’ would end this afternoon and, after a week’s hiatus, principle photography of the war scenes would begin.

 _But not until they eradicated the remaining Geth presence in ‘Eden Prime’s’ spaceport._   She remembered the _lesson_ they’d received from CMC Drake, the _four “f’s”_ of infantry combat; _find him, fix him, flank him, finish him._   They’d certainly taken care of the first _“f,”_ now for the rest.

Cynthia and the team had decided to stay in character during the exercise.  As such, ‘Commander Shepard’ was calling the shots; this somewhat rankled a few of the other actors.  Cynthia was surprised, honestly, that it had taken this long.  _Cram enough ego into one room, things are_ bound _to get interesting_ , thought Cynthia.  ‘Tali’ was particularly problematic.  She had a chip on her shoulder the size of a Live Ship.

“Tali, target that _destroyer_ on the right.”

‘Tali’ gave her the finger, so far as any three-fingered species could, and said, “Screw you bosh’tet.”

Cynthia was somewhat surprised.  This was the first time that ‘Tali’ had blatantly challenged her ersatz authority.  _What would Shepard do?_   “Tali, you shut the fuck up and fire your weapon!  Garrus, get up there and back Tali up.”

“You got it!”  ‘Garrus’ vaulted from cover.  Firing his rifle on the move he advanced to the shipping container ‘Tali’ sheltered behind and dropped in behind it.  In doing so, ‘Garrus’ jostled ‘Tali’ severely.

“Get off of me you Turian shit!”  ‘Tali’ pushed ‘Garrus’ from cover.  He was immediately _stitched_ by Geth fire.

“What the hell?” shouted ‘Garrus’.

‘Tali’ stood.  She too was hit several times by Geth rifle fire.  “Don’t ever touch me!”  She pointed her dummy rifle at the Turian actor.

‘Tali’ flew sideways and landed sprawled against a shipping container in a biotic blur.  Her rifle seemed to hang in mid-air as Admiral Shepard appeared from her biotic storm with a flash of flame-red hair.  The rapidly displaced air produced a faint thunderclap.  The real Shepard reached out, grabbed the rifle before it could even begin to fall, and with a quick fluid motion took cover behind the shipping container.  Victoria dropped a knee on ‘Tali’s chest and raised the rifle to her shoulder.

Cynthia Wright watched the legend at work.  Victoria fired quickly but methodically.  The remaining Geth went down in a fusillade of headshots.  Not a round was wasted.  All the while ‘Tali’ squirmed beneath the Admiral shouting a stream of expletives.  Suddenly the Admiral stopped shooting.  She reached back with her off hand and worked the weapon’s charging handle.  She pulled the trigger again, nothing happened.  The worked the charging handle again, still nothing.  _Jammed!_

With a blue flash of biotic energy Victoria stormed from her position towards the sole remaining Geth closing the distance in a blink of an eye.  The simulated Geth couldn’t react quickly enough to save itself.  Shepard cracked it across the ‘head’ with a butt stroke from her rifle.  The synthetic fell to the floor.  Shepard caved in the Geth’s head with another fluid motion of her rifle.  The battle was over.

Cynthia was awed.  Shepard’s movements were fluid and powerful, like a predatory cat.  Through the entire engagement she had not wasted a single action.  She had assessed her surroundings, evaluated the threat, and acted with purpose.  It was _beautiful_.  Now she was walking back towards her, flame red hair billowing in the wind, and she did not look pleased.

“Commander Shepard,” Victoria said.  She was using her _command voice_ ; loud, forceful, yet even toned with no hint of anger.  She didn’t need to sound angry; the look on her face spoke volumes.  _The killer_ was talking.  “Have your squad fall in.  Now.”  Cynthia would not keep her waiting.

Cynthia rose from cover, “Squad!  On me!”  As the team of actors fell into line Cynthia looked towards CMC Drake.  He slowly walked towards his students.  He watched stoically, arms crossed over his chest, observing the Admiral at work.  The Admiral’s daughter walked next to him, she had a look of surprise on her face.  Samara watched the proceedings intently.

After the line had formed, straight and arm’s length apart, Admiral Shepard approached ‘Commander Shepard’.  “What are you doing Commander?” she asked evenly.

“Ma’am?” Cynthia resolved immediately to stay in character.

“Are you trying to embarrass the Command Master Chief, or are you just incompetent?” Shepard said without a hint of emotion. 

Cynthia tried stammering out a response.  Shepard, _the killer_ , was intimidating her into muteness.

“Command Master Chief Drake is the best in the business.  I know he instructed you properly; so I’ll ask you again.  Are you trying to embarrass him?  Or are you just incompetent?”

“In what regard?” Cynthia finally managed to get past her lips.  Shepard’s behavior was freaking her out terribly.  _This shit is real_ , she thought.  All the more so that she was speaking evenly, almost quietly.  She stood closely, but not _too_ closely.  _The killer_ didn’t need to resort to threatening behavior.

“You deployed your squad ineffectively, and didn’t move as a team.  You should have been able to eliminate those Geth three times over in the amount of time I was watching you.  You weren’t employing mutually supportive fire.”  Cynthia was going to say something, but the Admiral continued on, “Your marksmanship is atrocious.  You should all be able to score headshots at this range.”

Shepard slung ‘Tali’s’ rifle over her shoulder, “These weapons are idiot proof.  They should not jam or otherwise malfunction unless you are willfully abusing them.”  She paused, “Lieutenant Commander Shepard, present you weapon,” she commanded.

Cynthia, to her credit, quickly and mechanically came to ‘port arms’, opened the rifle’s action to show that it was safe, and offered it to Shepard.  Admiral Shepard snatched the weapon with a precise motion and inspected it.  If Cynthia wasn’t so _frightened_ she might have laughed.  This was pure ‘drill instructor shtick’, right out of a movie.  Looking at the Admiral’s face, however, gave her the distinct impression that this was deadly serious.  The thing that most struck Cynthia, however, was that Shepard wasn’t mad.  Intimidating, yes; hell, she was downright terrifying.  But she wasn’t angry; despite having what Cynthia figured was ample reason to be pissed.  She seemed almost resigned, saddened by the whole situation.  _What’s happened to this woman?  What has she seen?_ Cynthia wondered.  _She’s so skilled, so powerful, but it brings her only sadness?_

“This rifle is in good order,” Shepard said returning it to Cynthia, “Why aren’t the rest of your squad’s?” 

Cynthia didn’t respond.  She had the feeling that everyone’s rifles would pass inspection, except for the one Admiral Shepard was holding.  _‘Tali’._   The Quarian actress had been the most problematic of the bunch.  After The Reconciliation, the Quarian people returned to their homeworld, Rannoch.  Since then the Quarians had reclaimed their place in the galactic community; the film industry was no exception.  The few Quarians that Cynthia had had the opportunity to work with had all been consummate professionals.  This one, however, just wouldn’t play nice. 

As if taking her silence as submission, Shepard regarded her.  She stepped back and looked at the team of actors.  “A team is only as strong as its weakest member.  You have an obligation to work with your teammates to make sure there are no weak links.  Your team’s life is your own.  Wars are not won,” she paused, “and movies are not made by individuals.”

Cynthia appreciated the words.  Shepard had not gone on a rant.  She had made it obvious they weren’t doing what they’d been taught to do, and had encouraged them to do better.  _No wonder the people she’s commanded liked her._   Cynthia did notice, however, that Victoria was avoiding looking at ‘Tali’.  _There’s pain there, but why ‘Tali’ and not ‘Garrus’ or ‘Kaiden’?_

Shepard seemed to be ready to walk away and leave the actors to their work.  Then ‘Tali’ mumbled something.

*****

Shepard regarded her doppelganger.  These were rookie mistakes.  Understandable too, considering having less than a week’s training.  Victoria decided it wouldn’t be helpful to harangue the actors further.  She had given them a little show, and a _gentle_ reminder to do better.  She didn’t want to do much more than that.  She was walking a fine line.  They couldn’t think their instructor had failed them in any way, but she wanted them to know they needed to pull it together. 

Admiral Shepard looked towards Command Master Chief Drake, he nodded nearly imperceptibly.  He approved of her lesson.  _Good._   Then Shepard looked at her daughter.  She was still watching the proceedings intently.  A small smile appeared on her lips, she seemed to have enjoyed what she saw.  Shepard was pondering if she should be pleased or displeased about that when she heard ‘Tali’ mumble something.

Victoria felt that she had been doing a good job of not reacting too badly to being confronted by a near-perfect copy of Tali’Zora vas Normandy.  _I’m doing a good job;_ right?  _Throwing her into an obstruction while disarming her was an appropriate reaction to her pointing her weapon at a teammate;_ right? _Crouching on top of her to force her to keep her head down while engaging Geth was a benign reinforcement to the lesson;_ right? 

Why did she do that?  Was she angry?  Upset?  Did she feel _anything?_   _I just beat up a stranger, and I don’t know why._ Victoria could barely pause her introspection long enough to collect herself, _what the hell is wrong with me?_

Shepard wanted to feel something, _anything_ , about ‘Tali’.  She wanted to feel anger that this actress could _play_ Tali’Zora while the genuine article was long dead.  Tali was a dear friend to her before and during the Reaper War.  She didn’t deserve her end.  Shepard could still remember the screaming, piped loudly and crystal clear, through the Combat Information Center’s speaker system.  She remembered going down to the engineering spaces after the battle was over to inspect the damage.  Doctor Chakwas tried to prevent her from opening the body bag, but she had to see.  Shepard shivered internally.  Victoria had ordered room cleared in the galley’s freezer.  Tali would never live to see her house built on the homeworld, but Shepard was going to see to it that she was buried there.  _I was going to help her build that house._

Shepard wanted to rage at ‘Tali’ for not only doing a poor job of capturing her dear friend, but for behaving in such a polar opposite way as the original had.  The real Tali’Zora was a friend to all.  She’d never snap at Garrus the way this actress had.  Garrus and Tali had been very close, and not just out of dextro-amino solidarity.  There had been a genuine emotional bond between them.  Garrus’ loss was also a painful memory, but Garrus was a soldier where Tali was just barely an adult.  Tali’Zora would have never pointed a weapon at a squad mate either.  That was wholly unacceptable.  _And what kind of Quarian can’t deal with close physical contact with someone else?_

Shepard wanted to feel something, but there was nothing.  She was empty.  Whatever agitation, or anger, or _whatever_ that had prompted her to act aggressively towards the actress initially was gone.  She couldn’t even muster a response to her mumbled insults.  _Keep it together, just_ keep _it together for Sam’s sake_ , Victoria told herself.

Shepard found herself standing before ‘Tali’.  Apparently the mumbling had prompted her to motion while she was thinking to herself.  The actress’ posture conveyed a total lack of respect; she obviously didn’t like the Admiral, and didn’t care if Victoria knew it.

Still, Shepard couldn’t bring herself to feel any emotion.  “What’s your problem?” she asked in an even, almost quiet, tone.  ‘Tali’ merely crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head; apparently Shepard wasn’t worth a response.  Shepard was confused, but not angered, for a moment; then something struck her, “What was it?”  Because of their masks a Quarian’s facial expression was impossible to discern.  Based on the slight twitch of her shoulders, however, Shepard was sure she was on the right track.  “What did you lose?  Or who?”

“What do you mean?”  ‘Tali’s posture changed somewhat.  She seemed less _indignant._   Now Shepard was sure she was on to something.

Shepard leaned close to the Quarian, “I’ve lost plenty.  But I don’t let it control my life.  You can’t let it control yours.  You’re better than this.”  Shepard felt like a fraud.  She was preaching a philosophy she herself hadn’t yet mastered.  Sometimes she just barely scraped by, the pain of her past experiences weighed so heavily on her.  But she had to do _something_.

*****

Cynthia observed the exchange.  Admiral Shepard was getting through to the Quarian actress.  _How does she do that?_

“My parents.  The Geth killed them before The Reconciliation.  They never saw the homeworld.”

“And that’s why you don’t get along with people?  You flipped out when Garrus,” she deployed a noticeable set of ‘air quotes’, “over there touched you.  Quarians are used to close quarters.”

“I can’t stand to be near people anymore.  It reminds me of the ships, of my parents.  I can’t even go to the homeworld.”  Cynthia marveled at how Victoria had gotten ‘Tali’ to open up like this.

Shepard’s face seemed to soften.  Cynthia wondered at what she was seeing.  Victoria had gone from brutal violence towards the Quarian actress to empathy in a matter of moments.  “You know, I actually know exactly what you mean.”

“How could you?”  _Does she not know?_ thought Cynthia.  _She must not have researched Shepard like I did._

Shepard’s face softened further, she almost seemed to be smiling gently.  “I killed my mother at Luna.  Her ship exploded because of something I did.”  The Quarian recoiled slightly.  “I re-live it nightly, almost.”  Shepard took a half step closer to ‘Tali’, the actress didn’t move this time.  “It hurts, every day, but I live with it.  I try to get along because I know that’s what she would have wanted.”  Shepard turned to look over her shoulder at her daughter.  Samara was watching with keen interest, but Cynthia couldn’t tell if she could hear her _father_ or not.  “I do it because I’m needed.”

‘Tali’ hung her head for a moment, “I don’t have anyone like that.”

Shepard reached out and gently placed her hand on ‘Tali’s’ shoulder.  The Quarian actress didn’t even flinch.  “Your team needs you.  What you’re doing here is important.  You’re making it _real_ for people.  They need to know.  This really happened.  It’s not just a footnote in a history book.  Tali’Zora helped save the galaxy, and you’re telling her story.”

 _What the hell am I seeing?_ Cynthia wondered.  _How does she do it?_

*****

Shepard was sure now that she couldn’t be angry with ‘Tali’.  Her initial lack of emotion still troubled her, but now she felt _sympathy_.  _That’s the_ right _reaction,_ Victoria thought.  This actress wasn’t disrespecting the memory of Tali’Zora because of a lack of respect.  She was dealing with her own loss, and this is how it manifested.  _Somehow_ that made it ok. 

Shepard remembered, after Luna, when the fleet had disengaged and was safe and the adrenaline had worn off, she’d gone nearly catatonic in her stateroom.  That she didn’t fold up during the battle was somewhat of a point of personal pride for Shepard, but afterward she had to deal with the death of her mother _somehow_.  _It’s my fault, it’s all my fault,_ were the thoughts that circled through her mind, self-reinforcing, until she thought she’d never be able to command a ship again.  It was Tali that had straightened her out; she had visited her in the _loft_ on SR-2.  The funny thing was, Shepard couldn’t even remember what she’d said.  All she knew was that it was enough to get her back into the fight.  For that she would be forever grateful.

Mixed with the sympathy, however, was guilt.  This actress had lost her parents to the Geth before The Reconciliation.  Could they have been saved if Victoria had only acted more quickly?  Did re-writing the Geth heretics rather than destroying them kill her parents?  Was it all her fault?  _More people that I’ve let down.  I’m such a fuck-up,_ she thought.

Shepard couldn’t bring them back.  Perhaps she couldn’t even help this actress deal with her loss.  _But she had to try._   Maybe she would give Kal’Reager, Commandant of the Rannoch (formerly Migrant Fleet) Marine Corps, a call; or maybe Tali’s _godmother_ , Admiral Shala’Raan.  Perhaps they could look out for her.  At the very least she would have given this woman some words of encouragement, _maybe that’ll be enough_.

“Kellah se’lai, Tali’Zora vas Rannoch; and thank you.”

_Please let this be enough._


	5. Shepard the Mom

Shepard the Mom:

Cynthia reviewed the day’s events in her mind.  After ‘boot camp’ had broken up, following an _inspirational_ speech from the Command Master Chief where he thanked Shepard for visiting and offering her _encouragement_ , Shepard, Samara, and she had piled into an air taxi.  They were headed for some hiking at Mt. Rainer, with a short stopover in Seattle, Washington.  Cynthia had decided early on that this was a time for _father_ and daughter; she’d stay out of their way as much as possible and observe.

Cynthia Wright’s first visit to Seattle turned out to be an introduction to several _northwest traditions_ ; some more strange than others.  Visiting the ancient coffee shop was a bit odd.  Not so much that it was old, though, it predated _and_ had survived the Second American Civil War _and_ the Reaper Invasion, but that it held such historical significance for the locals.  Apparently, back in the 21 st, that particular chain had enjoyed larger annual profits than the GDPs of some small countries.  Stranger still were the fishmongers down the street throwing fresh caught seafood at each other.  The tourists crowding around them, including, oddly enough, a pair of Hanar, seemed to be enjoying the show.  Cynthia had merely shaken her head at the _local color_.  Shepard spent a few moments ordering several kilos of fresh salmon and coffee for delivery to her home on Thessia. 

The oddest of all, perhaps, was the nearly two hundred year old sporting goods store in a landmarked building complete with a monolithic indoor climbing wall.  It was there that she had watched Victoria and her daughter shop for climbing gear.  While there was plenty of modern equipment available in this particular store, it still had a large ‘traditional’ section.  In a strange _touristy_ sense, Cynthia could understand the old coffee shop they’d visited down by the waterfront.  She could _almost_ understand the fishmongers.  But she had difficulty wrapping her head around why people would attempt to go mountain climbing with just thin layers of polypropylene between them and the elements.  It was strange enough that she remembered the experience vividly:

“How about this one, mom?” Samara held a light weight climbing jacket up to Shepard.  It was form fitting, Shepard would fill it out nicely.  “We’ll match.”  The jacket was the same shade of blue as Samara’s skin.

Shepard smiled, “Sure thing Sam.”  Then they disappeared into a dressing room.  Cynthia stood outside and listened to the exchange.  Interspersed between what was obviously, and for Cynthia unexpectedly, _girl talk_ , Shepard imparted some wisdom to her daughter.  “You need to avoid sweating as much as possible; if you get wet and then cold you’re in trouble.  The trick is to dress so that you’re a little bit cold when you’re sitting still, but comfortable when you’re active.  You can always throw on another layer to stay warm when you make camp.” 

Cynthia had learned the same lesson when she was a kid.  Though, Shepard said it in a much friendlier tone without any hint of condescending paternalism.  _Or would it be maternalism?_   She wasn’t using the _command voice_ she’d put on display at the ‘boot camp’; she spoke softly and warmly.  Cynthia was pleasantly surprised.  Shepard seemed to interact with Samara as if she were an equal, or at least not a _child_.  _Probably because she acts so mature,_ thought Cynthia.  _I wonder what happens if they have to ground her for something.  Staying out too late?  Stealing the car?_   Somehow, though, she couldn’t quite picture Samara wining, throwing a tantrum, or doing anything one would normally associate with a teen.

After a couple of hours they departed the store.  The only non- _traditional_ item was an Asari-form climbing helmet.  The ‘old school’ section didn’t have any gear for non-humans.  Thankfully, Cynthia noted as they boarded another air taxi that would take them to Mt. Rainer, they both had their own well broken-in boots.

*****

Their attempt at mountaineering turned out to be a bust.  The weather forecast had indicated clear when they left Seattle, but it had degraded significantly during transit.  Mt. Rainer was big enough to influence the already unpredictable weather patterns of the Pacific Northwest.  It was a shame, really, Cynthia actually did enjoy hiking and mountain climbing.  She would have jumped at the opportunity to visit Rainer, even if it didn’t give her a chance to observe Victoria and her daughter.

Trail conditions were great too, adding to the sense of disappointment.  They could have conceivably risked the weather and still had a good climb, but they wouldn’t chance it.  Surprisingly enough, it was Samara who indicated that she didn’t think it would be safe to do anything more than wander around the trails near the visitor center; not Shepard.  On second thought, Cynthia wasn’t sure why she was surprised.  She doubted Samara would have pouted or otherwise tried to guilt Shepard into taking the risk.  Still, Samara was showing a maturity level she wouldn’t have expected from a teenager, of any species.  _Shepard and Liara are really raising an amazing kid, aren’t they?_ thought Cynthia.  Then she chuckled.  _Surely Shepard telling Samara they could try again later this year when they returned to Earth for the World Cup diffused any disappointment._

As the day drew to a close they packed up their gear and hailed an air taxi to take them back to Vancouver.  Shepard and Samara would catch a lighter to Luna, Victoria wanted to visit the _SSV Orizaba_ memorial, and from there a transport back to Thessia.  Cynthia would follow in a couple of days, she had promised Samara she’d go to her concert.  Cynthia feared that Samara might be developing something of a crush on her.  Besides, she had some _business_ with U’nara T’noal she could take care of while she was there.

After the air taxi touched down, Shepard tossed their gear in the trunk and took a seat.  Samara sat next to her and promptly curled up and dozed off.  _You didn’t need to_ summit _Mt. Rainer to tire yourself out._   As the taxi lifted off, Shepard let out a long breath and smiled.  _She actually smiled!_

*****

The air taxi shook slightly as they passed through a small down-burst; Cynthia Wright returned to the present.  Samara T’soni’s head lolled back and forth gently on her _father’s_ thigh.  Samara had fallen asleep with her head resting in Shepard’s lap.  Victoria looked down at her daughter and smiled.  She gently stroked one of Samara’s hair ‘horns’.

It was, in a word, adorable.  Cynthia didn’t have an issue with children per se, or teens for that matter, but she could never really see herself having any.  Procreating struck her as a surefire way of relinquishing control of her life.  Friends and, more infuriatingly, strangers would tell her that that would change some day, but she just couldn’t see it.  Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to worry about it any time soon.  Cynthia’s implant was rated for 30 years, and she’d barely used up half of that.

Still, Shepard absolutely adored her daughter.  That much was obvious.  Disinterested in children herself or not, Cynthia couldn’t deny it warmed her heart.  This was not _the killer_ ; this was the polar opposite.  This was the Shepard who gave life, not the one who took it away.  Opposite sides of the same coin, _Christ, what a trite analogy._ This was Shepard _the mom_ , to use Samara’s own phrasing.  _Cynthia had always wondered how you’d address two female parents, especially in a human/Asari relationship._  

 _But she’s so adroit at killing._   It was almost as if that was what she was built to do.  Cynthia was having difficulty reconciling what she’d read about Victoria, what she’d done during the war, and the warm loving person that sat before her.  She had to know, “Admiral?  Did you always want kids?”

Shepard smirked to herself.  She looked up at Cynthia and said, “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask that question.”

“Oh?  How’s that, ma’am?”

“You’re not the first to wonder.”  She paused, “though few actually ask.  Something seems to intimidate them into silence.”

Cynthia smirked; she was starting to get that smile down, “I can’t imagine that.”

“No, Miss Wright, I didn’t always want kids.”  She paused and smiled down at her daughter.  _This is starting to get too saccharine._   “And to answer your follow up question; I would like to think that it was on Therum.  That’s when I decided I wanted a family.”  She paused, “Yes, it’s sappy.  It _was_ love at first sight, and I knew what I wanted with my life.”

“Seriously?” Cynthia couldn’t help but blurt out.

“You sound surprised.”

Cynthia couldn’t help herself.  _What kind of woman is this?_   “Admiral, I’m just confused is all.”  She straightened up in her seat somewhat.  “You’re saying that the primary outcome of a violent battle with a Krogan Battlemaster and a squad of Geth was that you found the love of your life, and the desire to have children?  That’s not the kind of reaction a normal person would expect.”

“Oh?”  Samara stirred and Shepard paused until she settled, “So you’re saying that I’m not normal?”

 _Banzai!_   “No ma’am.  You are by no means _normal_.”

Shepard smirked again.  Cynthia cringed for a moment, she expected _the killer_.  She hadn’t spoken to the Admiral with anything approaching this level of familiarity before.  She was concerned it could backfire.  It seemed, however, that being in close proximity to Samara had substantially calmed Shepard.  Cynthia was getting away with a lot.

“Thanks for noticing,” Shepard said sardonically.  “But you’re right.  That’s not the _correct_ reaction.  However, emotions are neither right nor wrong, they simply are.”  Shepard paused, seemed to think to herself for a moment, and continued, “Besides, I didn’t suddenly have the desire to have children, at least not _explicitly_.  It was more a vague realization that I wanted more out of life.

“My mission against Saren was the most important thing I had ever done.  I _needed_ to complete it successfully, the fate of trillions hung in the balance.  The galaxy was depending on me.  But then I met _her_ , and things changed.  Suddenly I was only concerned with the fate of one.”

“Sappy,” Cynthia blurted out.

*****

“Hah,” Shepard responded reflexively.  _Cynthia is getting a bit bolder,_ thought Shepard, _but at least she’s lightening up._   “Is it so hard to believe?  It’s a big universe out there; you wouldn’t believe half the crazy stuff I’ve seen.”

“So, head over heels, blue babies, white picket fence; right out of the box?”

“Yes,” responded Victoria.

“And you decided you wanted all of this and that you were willing to die to get it, all in the space of a few seconds?” asked Cynthia.

Victoria pondered that for a moment and scowled.  She looked at Cynthia and watched her wilt.  Shepard decided she needed to dial back _the look_.  “That’s a bit of a cliché, Miss Wright, and you know it.”  Shepard reminded herself that Cynthia was an actress, not a soldier.  Fortunately for her, she had probably never had to deal with death up close and personally.

“What do you mean, ma’am?” Cynthia asked timidly.

Victoria sighed, “A willingness to die for something, especially loved ones and children, is _easy_.  To a certain extent you’re even programmed for it.  It’s usually not even a conscious decision, combat happens so quickly that it’s over before you’ve realized it’s started.  That’s one of the reasons we train so hard, your body needs to react almost of its own will.

“No.  When I met the Lady Liara on Therum I didn’t want to die for her.  I wanted to live for her.  Like I said, perhaps it’s too forceful to say that I _knew_ I wanted kids right then and there, but it was the desire to share the love I was feeling that I wanted to protect.”  Shepard paused, “The mark of the immature woman is that she wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of a mature woman is that she wants to live humbly for one.”

“Wilhelm Stekel,” interrupted Cynthia, “And you changed the gender on the quote.”

Shepard smiled despite the interruption, “Very good Miss Wright.”

Shepard looked down at Samara, smiled, and said, “Dying for a cause is easy.  Living for one is harder.  Besides, I’ve been dead before.”

“So that really _did_ happen?  You know, most people still think that that was just a ruse,” said Cynthia.

 _Wow, we kept that under wraps better than I’d thought._   “Yes, Miss Wright.  I was well and truly _dead_ for a couple of years.”

“So living humbly for your family is something of an achievement?”

“Indeed.”  Shepard paused, “Unfortunately, sometimes just living for your family isn’t enough.  Sometimes you do have to kill for them, and that’s one of the hardest things to do.”  Deep down Shepard knew this was only a half truth.  One of her best kept secrets, known only to Liara through the bond, was that on more than a few occasions Shepard had _enjoyed_ killing.  This fact caused her no small amount of grief.  She was a _monster._   She would certainly _not_ be sharing that with Cynthia.

Cynthia arched her eyebrow.  _Seems we’re two for two in keeping stuff under wraps,_ thought Shepard.  Shepard pondered for a moment; there would be no harm in telling Cynthia _this_ particular tidbit.  It might even help drive her point home.  “You recall when we first met I said that things would end very badly for you if you ever spoke with my daughter without my permission?”

Cynthia gulped visibly.  “Yes, that _does_ stand out in my memory.”

“That wasn’t some irrational protective parent overreaction on my part.”  She paused and looked Cynthia in the eye, “When Sam was little,” she paused, “someone came to her school and tried to take her away.” 

*****

Cynthia’s jaw dropped.  “I had no idea.”  _Christ, she’s certainly made plenty of enemies; but messing with a kid?  That’s fucking low.  Batarian’s maybe?_

“No, we kept it low key because of what happened next.”  Shepard looked at the aft bulkhead of the air taxi and ploughed on with the story.  _That’s not_ the killer _, that’s the thousand meter stare_ , thought Cynthia.  “The school teacher didn’t see the guy show up.  She and I were chatting about something; I can’t remember what.  I’d arrived a little bit early to pick Sam up.  Anyway, neither of us were paying attention when we should have been.  It was my own dumb fault.”  Shepard shook her head.  “So I just happen to look over the teacher’s shoulder and I see this human man standing over Sam, she must have been 4 years old, talking to her.  Then he reached down to pick her up.”  Victoria took a deep breath.  “I used my biotics to close the distance in a flash.  I don’t think Sam saw me approach, but suddenly I was there between her and this guy.”

Cynthia watched Shepard ball one of her fists and then release her grip.  _The killer_ was back!  “I looked him in the eye, and in a very even, almost friendly, tone told him he had to leave.  I’d escort him off of school grounds.”  She paused and seemed to center herself.  “By then the teacher had caught up and she took Sam by the hand and walked her away.  So, I took the man by the arm and walked him behind the shed where they kept the balls and sports equipment.”

Shepard looked Cynthia in the eye.  She expected to see _the killer_ again.  Instead Shepard’s expression was hollow.  Her face was a slack mask.  It was startling.  _Who is this woman?_   “What did you do next?”

“I beat him to within an inch of his life.”  She closed her eyes and rattled off a list of injuries, “Shattered left patella, hyper extended knees and elbows, two broken clavicles, shattered left scapula, compound fractured right femur, left and right ruptured Achilles tendons, ruptured spleen, collapsed left lung, multiple broken ribs, all of his front teeth knocked out, and a couple of skull fractures.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Yes.  _He’s_ probably why that asshole is still alive.  I heard he might have re-learned to walk recently.”  Shepard paused, “He got off lucky.  If Liara had been there she would have flayed him alive with her biotics.”  She paused in introspection.  “Better that it was me and not Liara.  I’m technically still a Spectre, there were no legal repercussions for me.  All I got was a funny look for letting him live, and a very discreet atta-boy from a friend in law enforcement.  Liara could have done hard time.”

“Who was it?  It’s fucking abhorrent that they’d go after your kid, but you’ve made enemies.  Batarians?”

Shepard chucked to herself.  _What the hell?  She’s laughing?_ thought Cynthia.  “No, Miss Wright.  It was a fan.”

*****

 _Conrad Verner, what the fuck?_ Victoria thought to herself.  The sad thing is that Conrad probably thought he was doing a good thing.  He believed he was a hero, just like his idol.  _And I thought I had straightened him out._   Waving a pistol in his face and shooting him in the foot should have been sufficient.  He should have realized that he was just a poser.  He should have left the hero work to those who had the skills and the training to pull it off.  In fact, for a time, Shepard had thought he did.  He started that children’s charity he named after her.  It was actually a rather _noble_ thing he did.  _But messing with my baby!_

She still couldn’t figure out why, _or how_ , Conrad had showed up on Thessia and tried to grab Sam.  Honestly, she didn’t want to know.  _Sam, I don’t know what I would have done if he had hurt you!  I don’t know what I’d do if_ anyone _ever hurt you!_   Shepard had nightmares about the incident periodically.  Fortunately, though, Sam didn’t remember any of it.  _Thank heaven for small mercies._

Objectively, Shepard doubted very much that Conrad would have ever _purposely_ harmed Sam.  Deep down he was probably a good guy.  She had no doubt, however, that he could have very easily _accidentally_ caused her harm.  But those were rational thoughts.  Shepard had lost herself in the rage of someone messing with her baby girl.  It took all her self control to keep from killing him; _he wasn’t even armed!_   The Matriarch Aethyta liked to remind Liara that she was a quarter Krogan; perhaps Shepard had some Krogan in her too.

*****

Cynthia sat there watching Victoria.  Shepard just sat there, staring at nothing, obviously working something out in her own head.  Then Victoria looked down at her sleeping daughter, stroked her hair ‘horn’ again, and smiled.  Cynthia was dumfounded.  Even in something that brought her untold amounts of joy, her daughter, there was violence and sadness.  Perhaps _the killer_ and _the mom_ were inextricably linked.  _Conceivably any number of other character traits too_ , she thought.  Shepard couldn’t have happiness without sadness. 

The dome light of the air taxi’s passenger compartment flashed green three times.  They would be at their destination, the Vancouver spaceport, in a few moments.  Shepard leaned forward and spoke gently into Samara’s _ear_ , “Sam, sweetie, we’re almost there.  Time to get up.”  Samara’s eyes fluttered open, stared at nothing for a moment, and then snapped into focus. 

Samara sat up, stretched, and yawned.  She smiled at Cynthia, “I’m glad you could join us, Cynthia.  Too bad about the weather, though.”  Cynthia smiled.  _Take care of your_ dad _, Sam.  She needs you,_ the thought suddenly burst into Cynthia’s mind.

Cynthia was grateful that she had had the opportunity to see Shepard interacting with Samara; doubly so to hear Shepard’s poignant, and terrifying, story.  Shepard was obviously a rare breed, she had so much love, and she was willing to do whatever it took to protect it.  “Likewise, Samara.”


	6. Shepard the Emotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgements / Disclaimers:  
> (This may contain a spoiler for later in this section? Not sure. Maybe read the disclaimer after reading the chapter? Either way, don’t worry, nothing horrific happens…)   
> I figured this chapter deserved special attention. I’d like to thank The Killers for producing a song that moved Shepard, and me, to tears and the film Southland Tales for introducing me to it. This section should be considered a transformative work of the aforementioned, and is, thus, fair use.  
> Also, heartfelt thanks to an old friend; for helping me sort out what song is really all about.

Shepard the Emotion:

_“When there’s nowhere else to run, is there room for one more son?  One more son…”_

_Odd,_ thought Cynthia, _Asari don’t have sons._  

The Asari were going nuts.  Cynthia wasn’t much on early 21st Century rock, but _‘The Blueberry Jam’_ did put on a good show.  _And with an average age of_ only _40, they were the youngest band playing._ Regardless, she was still trying to wrap her head around the idea of an Asari ‘Battle of the Bands’ contest.  _I wonder if someone else is_ messing _with Shepard._ Somehow she didn’t think so.  _Shit, the average age in this room must be about 300; do these women_ ever _grow up?_  

She’d heard a lot tonight, turns out that Turian music from the Unification War sounded a lot like rhythm and blues.  Samara T’soni’s band’s set list was composed entirely of American music from 1969 through 2020.  They were currently playing the finale of a five song set.  They’d opened with a rousing rendition of Jimi Hendrix’s _Star Spangled Banner_.  Their backdrop was actually an old _48-star_ American flag, not the50 stars when Hendrix played at Woodstock.  _It_ certainly _wasn’t the 94 star flag of the United States’ successor state, the United North American States_.  _Was that a nod to_ SSV Normandy’s _namesake battle?_ wondered Cynthia.  Then their take on _Knocking on Heaven’s Door_ had actually produced a couple dozen cigarette lighters.  _Where the hell did these Maidens get cigarette lighters?  Asari don’t smoke._

Cynthia had been stealing glimpses of Shepard’s reaction to the event.  She obviously adored her daughter.  It was heartwarming.  Truly.  She hadn’t seen _the killer_ in the whole time they’d been here.  Surprisingly, the Admiral had actually sung along to all of Samara’s songs.  It was hard to tell, between the band and the crowd the room was very loud, but she seemed to have a beautiful soprano; just like her daughter’s.  This song was no different.

_“… Another head aches, another heart breaks…”_

Cynthia was beginning to worry about her prospects for portraying Shepard.  She was just so hard to read, she was all over the map.  So far she’d seen; _the killer, the loving wife, the doting_ father _, the college professor,_ and _the legendary hero and soldier._

_“… Help me out.  Yeah, you know you got to help me out…”_

But there was something else.  Some undercurrent that was present through all of _them_.  She didn’t want to use the word _personalities_ , Shepard wasn’t _crazy_ after all, but she was multifaceted.  She’d just seen so much; that must have _some_ sort of effect on a person.

_“… These changes ain’t changing me.  The cold-hearted boy I used to be…”_

Cynthia looked at Shepard’s face.  There it was.  What is it?  A sadness?  _Shouldn’t be surprising, considering all of the loss she’s experienced; Alenko, Tali, Garrus, her_ mom _, Liara’s mother, her daughter’s namesake the Justicar.  The list went on_.  They all were gone, yet she remained.  She always remained.

_“… Yeah, you’re gonna bring yourself down.  Yeah, you’re gonna bring yourself down…”_

What bothered her more was that she could detect it even when Shepard was doing the things that were actually the happiest for her.  She saw glimpses of it when she was with Liara.  She saw glimpses of it while she was teaching.  _Odd that she teaches a subject that’s caused her so much pain in the past.  She re-lives it with every lecture, every assignment she grades._   She was seeing it now.  She was taking part in her daughter’s life, and she loved her daughter more than anything, but there it was.

Cynthia empathized with her, more so than she had anticipated.  This woman had done so much for so many, she _deserved_ to be happy.  She had her beautiful wife, her amazingly talented daughter, her white picket fence; why hasn’t she found the happiness she deserves in them?  She was there for _everyone_ , but she couldn’t be there for _herself_. 

The song became quiet suddenly.  The bassist, who was actually a human teenage girl adopted by an Asari-human family as a war orphan, strummed a steady beat.  Samara sang the bridge in her high soprano.

_“… I got soul but I’m not a soldier…”_

It was happening now.  Shepard looked in the direction of her daughter, but she was no longer looking _at_ her.  Her face had gone slack, she had a faraway look.  She sang along.

_“…I got soul but I’m not a soldier…”_

_Is this helping?  Is this therapeutic for the Admiral?  Or is masochism at work here?_ Cynthia couldn’t tell, but Shepard’s expression continued to change.  Her shoulders began to bob in time with the beat.

_“… I got soul but I’m not a soldier…”_

She kept singing.  Tears welled up in her eyes.  Soon they ran down her face.  _Holy shit.  Here I am, standing next to the greatest hero who might have ever lived, and she’s crying._

_“… I got soul but I’m not a soldier…”_

Then Cynthia remembered something an acting coach had once told her: 

 _“Music is the most primal of human expression, song doubly so.  Song is pure emotion, stretching back untold millennia to our genetic roots.  Picture it, you’re a caveman, the world is a scary place.  Deadly predators stalk you and drag your friends from your cave screaming in the night.  The animals you hunt are large and dangerous.  The climate is cold and unforgiving.  You spend all of your time just trying to survive in a world you have not yet broken to your will, because you_ can’t _.  You’re impotent.  All you can do is gather around the fire and raise your voices against the darkness.  You cry out against the cruel universe because that’s_ all _you can do.  You scream with all your might to drive back that darkness and claim the world for yourself and your progeny.  Those were the first songs.  That’s why music soothes the savage breast, because song comes from our inner savage.  Song is_ in _us.”_

Cynthia was seeing that at work now.  Shepard was crying out against the darkness.  Shepard was pure emotion.

_“… I got soul but I’m not a soldier…”_

Cynthia had an epiphany.  Shepard did what she did because she _cared_ so _much_.  She cared about everyone; human, alien, Liara, their daughter, probably even her if she had known her during the war.  She put her entirety into the Reaper War, and now she was empty.  She’d given everything so that others could live long happy lives, but she couldn’t enjoy it herself.

_“… I got soul but I’m not a soldier…”_

Worse still, Shepard _knew_ it.  _Fuck, she knows what’s happening to her,_ thought Cynthia. 

_“… I got soul but I’m not a soldier…”_

Shepard continued to sing along to her daughter.  Now she was shaking her head side to side with the beat.  Tears pattered onto her shoulders.  Cynthia realized something else; she had developed an utterly profound respect for the woman.  It went beyond the hero worship that most of the galaxy directed towards her, this was heartfelt.  _Shit, the things she’s done.  She did them for us.  She did them for_ me _._

_“… I got soul but I’m not a soldierrr…”_

Shepard squeezed her eyes hard over the tears and raised her head towards the ceiling as she held the last note.  Samara held the note as well and started wailing on the drums.  Cynthia remembered something Shepard had said when they had first met; _Samara doesn’t play the drums, she plays the_ shit _out of the drums._  

_“… Over and again, last call for sin…”_

As the song continued Cynthia got the sense that, despite the heartache and loss, Shepard would have done it all again.  That was just the way she was.  She was the hero.  Not because she wanted to be, but because she _had_ to be.  Cynthia felt gratitude; she didn’t think she could have done the same.  _Damn it, how can I portray this woman, I can’t even hope to measure up._   She reminded herself that that’s why they called it _acting_.  It was only a small consolation.

_“… While everyone’s lost, the battle is won.  With all these things that I’ve done…”_

_Yes Shepard, you won,_ Cynthia thought.  She wept internally; she hoped that Shepard would find what she was looking for. 

_“…  If you can hold on.  If you can hold on…”_

But, somehow, Cynthia didn’t think she ever would.

The song began to taper off.  With the final note Samara twirled her drum stick and pointed it towards her _father_.  A kick on the bass drum and the crowd erupted in applause.  Cynthia had to admit, they were pretty good.  Samara beamed at her father for a moment, then directed her attention toward her band-mates.  They exchanged enthusiastic high-fives.  Cynthia shook her head, _I’m never going to understand Asari_.

Cynthia turned to look at the Admiral.  She was beaming a smile towards her daughter.  The tears were dry, her eyes weren’t even red.  _And the transformation is complete_ , thought Cynthia.  She wondered to herself, _did I just see the_ real _Victoria Shepard?  Is there a_ real _Victoria Shepard?_   She tried to put a name to this _manifestation, yes, that’s a good word that doesn’t make her sound crazy_ , of Victoria Shepard.  She pondered for a moment; _Shepard the emotion.  Yes, that’s it._   She had given name to the undercurrent that was present in all the other Shepards; _emotion_. 

_I’m definitely going to have to work on capturing that.  If it’s even possible at all._

Then Victoria turned towards the actress, “You enjoy yourself?”

“Yes.  Your daughter is very talented,” she smiled back.  _And I think you taught me what I needed to know about you_ , she thought to herself.  _Thank you._


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue:

The download had completed a few hours ago, now it was just a matter of waiting for the clock to strike eight and the file to unlock.  Samara had made popcorn; another Earth import that the Asari couldn’t get enough of.  Honestly, Shepard could take it or leave it, especially with all of the butter that Sam and her mother liked to put on it.  Malted milk balls were more her speed.

Cynthia Wright had sent them a free download voucher for the series, it was the least she could do.  Apparently a physical copy, complete with signatures from the entire cast, was also in the offing.  Shepard figured that’d show up in the post eventually.  But, in the meantime, extranet download was what they had.  Shepard and her family would watch the series as it was released, one episode per week.  _I doubt I’d be able to handle watching any more than that in one shot,_ she thought.

Truth be told, Shepard was a bit anxious; and not just because she was voluntarily going to relive some painful memories.  _It’s just a television series about the Reaper War,_ Shepard reminded herself, _it’s not_ the _Reaper War._ Mainly she was anxious because she hadn’t seen an all-up version of the series, Cynthia and Khalisah had been insistent on that point.  Personnel from the Alliance Navy Public Affairs Office had seen it, of course, and they’d bought off on it.  The Navy didn’t consider itself _besmirched_ , but what about her and Liara?  She consoled herself that she and Liara had both comported themselves well during the war. 

Samara entered the media room with both arms wrapped around a large popcorn bowl.  She smiled warmly at Victoria, padded up to her, and gave her a peck on the cheek.  Sam had been looking forward to the release for the past few weeks.  She was happy she’d have a chance to watch with her parents.  Samara offered Shepard a handful of popcorn; she smiled and shook her head.

Samara’s potential reaction to the series also made Shepard nervous.  Victoria and Liara had devoted a substantial amount of time in the bond sharing their thoughts on the matter.  They wanted to balance educating Samara in history and what her parents did with not over exposing her to the sheer magnitude of horror that was the Reaper War.  According to Cynthia and the reviews they’d seen, the series was extremely graphic.  In the end, they had decided to watch it as a family.  Perhaps being there for Sam, explaining things as they unfolded would get the message across without too much trauma.  _I don’t want my baby to have nightmares,_ Victoria had said to Liara in the joining, _I know I certainly do._

Shepard returned to the present.  “It’s almost show time Sam, ready?”

“All set,” she replied with a shake of the popcorn bowl.

Shepard chuckled.  _The Asari really like their popcorn, don’t they._

Samara flopped onto the couch as Liara glided into the room, “I just received a message from Kelly.  They missed the last shuttle from the spaceport.  They’re going to stay in Armali tonight.”

“Sure they did,” Shepard said out of the side of her mouth.  She smirked.

“It doesn’t look like they’ll be joining us.  They’ll be here for brunch tomorrow morning.”

“Grandma’s not coming?” asked Samara.

“Guess not sweetie,” responded Shepard.  Victoria’s omni-tool chirped.  It was time.

Shepard sat on the couch next to Samara.  Liara took a position on the other side of their daughter within easy reach of the popcorn bowl.  Victoria tapped out a couple of commands on her omni-tool and the lights dimmed.  Shepard reached her arm around Sam’s shoulders and tickled Liara’s neck.  A wide smile spread across her face as the film began to roll.

*****

The screen was black.  Shepard appeared sitting in a wooden chair.  She wore a modest suit, her only jewelry an iridium wedding band and the rosette of the _Star of Terra_.  Her expression was even.  She wore her hair down.  She looked towards the camera, but not directly into it.  _Here we go,_ thought Shepard.

“We didn’t set out to save the world,” Shepard said.  She spoke evenly, matter-of-factly.  “I wasn’t even briefed on the mission until we entered the Utopia System.”  The Shepard on the screen paused for a moment, “Captain Anderson said we were heading to Eden Prime to recover a Prothean artifact, and that I was being evaluated as a potential Spectre.”  Shepard paused again in what seemed to be a moment of quiet reflection.  She remained silent for a few seconds while her gaze seemed to drift away from the camera.  She re-centered herself, “Then we received a distress call from the colony.  They were under attack from some _massive_ alien ship of unknown origin.  They needed help.  Captain Anderson ordered Lieutenant Moreau to increase speed, we were going in.”  She paused.  “That was the first time any of us saw a Reaper.”

The screen faded to black.  Ashley Williams appeared sitting in the same chair.  She wore a conservative white blouse and a black business skirt.  A small Spectre Corps lapel pin adorned her breast pocket.  She interlaced her fingers on her lap.  Ash looked agitated.  She wouldn’t look directly into the camera.

“It happened quickly, suddenly.  One moment I was patrolling the outskirts of the colony, the next,” she paused.  Ash seemed to be on the edge of composure.  “The next,” she continued, “it was like the sky had ripped open and this _thing_ appeared; this enormous, black, tentacle, _thing_.  My team was killed almost immediately.  There were Geth everywhere.”  Ash paused again to collect herself.  “I bunkered down, fired off the war-warning beacon, and transmitted a distress call.  Then I prayed that help would come.”  Ash looked at nothing in particular for a moment, “Then it did.”  She half smiled.

The screen faded to black.  Shepard had no idea that Ashley had been interviewed as well.  She was also somewhat surprised to see so much emotion out of her.  Liara squeezed her hand, she had noticed it too.

The series’ title appeared in plain white text:   _Normandy._   As the title sequence played, short clips of scenes from the series accompanied by a melancholy orchestral piece, Shepard turned to look at her beloved.  Liara looked back.  She smiled.  She nodded.  Her expression said, _good job my love._   Shepard brushed her hand across Liara’s cheek.  She closed her eyes and smiled. 

Shepard felt; happy, honored, _relieved_.  When Cynthia Wright had asked her to answer a few questions, provide some background information and insights on camera, Victoria had nearly balked.  Shepard had come to respect what Cynthia Wright was trying to do, to tell the story of the Reaper War so future generations would never forget.  Frankly, she was worried that she would screw it up.  She was scared it’d carry the wrong tone, or that she’d over-emphasize some aspects of her experiences at the expense of others.  She desperately didn’t want to dilute the message; or worse, send the wrong one.

With that particular fear retired, Shepard now turned her attention to her main trepidation; Samara.  How would she react?  Would she cry at the utter brutality of combat?  Would she have nightmares about the gore?  Worse still, would she decide then and there that she wanted to follow in her parents’ footsteps and take on a life of terror and violence?  _There’s only one way to know for sure,_ Shepard thought to herself.  _Then Liara and I can guide our baby girl down the right path._

The title sequence ended.  The screen faded to black.  The title of the first episode appeared on the screen in plain white text: _Eden Prime._

*****

The room’s lights came back up slowly so their eyes could adjust.  _That went better than I’d have hoped_ , Shepard thought to herself.  There had been no screaming or crying, from _any_ of them.  Shepard’s heart had raced through most of the combat scenes, but she maintained an outer calm.  Liara could feel her distress, she was sure, but not Samara she hoped.  _Now to discuss it with Sam_.  Shepard turned to look at her daughter.  She looked lost in thought.  Shepard didn’t say anything; instead she looked to her wife.  Liara looked back, there was an unspoken understanding.  Eventually, Samara spoke.

“Was it really that bad mom?” she asked.  She almost sounded timid.  As the film had progressed Samara seemed to become withdrawn.  She stopped eating the popcorn.  She pulled in her legs and sat on them.  It was almost as if she was assuming a fetal position.

“No Sam,” Shepard said evenly.  She looked at Liara, her wife nodded.  “Sam, it was much worse.  I can’t really describe how horrible it was,” she paused, “and Eden Prime was almost tame compared to the war itself.”

An unbelieving look was the only response Shepard received.

“Sam, your mother and I wanted you to see this.  We wanted you to know, _to see_ , what happened during the war.”

“Wow.”  Samara couldn’t muster anything more complex than _wow_.

“Indeed,” Liara said flatly.

“You really did those things?  Fought those _things_?”

“Yes sweetie.”

“And they didn’t believe you?  You kept doing it even though no one wanted to believe you?”

“Yes sweetie.”

“Why?”

“Because it was my job.  Then, after I met your mother, I did it because I wanted her to be safe.”  Liara leaned over and kissed Shepard on the cheek.  “And I did it for you.  I wanted you to be safe, years before you were even conceived.”  Shepard kissed Samara on the top of her head, she giggled.  Shocked by the film or not, she was still ticklish.

“You volunteered to serve.  You wanted to do this for a living?  Even before the Reapers, those scenes about the Blitz?”

That gave Shepard pause.  Of course, it was true, she had volunteered.  She really didn’t know what she was getting herself into.  Her parents, of course, had told her how awful war was.  They had said that they served so that she wouldn’t have to.  _Then_ they would say how proud they would be of her if she followed in their footsteps.  And there it was; the thing that was conflicting her. 

Part of Shepard didn’t want Samara to have anything to do with war, ever.  The idea that she could grow up in a universe free of the Reapers gave her solace when the nightmares woke her from her sleep.  Every sleepless night, every cold sweat, every crying fit, even the chronic depression that had haunted her for nearly 20 years, it was all worth it if Samara never needed to know a day of war.  Yet.  Yet, deep down, she knew how proud she would be of Samara if she took on the same burden for the next generation.  Indeed, the other part of her _wanted_ Samara to follow in her footsteps.  This caused no small amount of angst for Victoria and, through the bond, Liara.

Shepard didn’t see an easy way out of this.  Her hope that the series’ gore might turn Samara off to the entire thing was probably misplaced.  Samara took after her parents too much to be squeamish.  The truth, it would have to be the truth.  “Sam, sweetie, I didn’t know what I was getting into.  If I had it all to do over again,” she paused, “I don’t know that I would.”  That was a lie, a small one, but still a lie.  _So much for the truth._   “Your mother and I will be proud of you, whatever path you choose to follow in life.  But, please, leave the Reaper War as part of your heritage, and chart your own course in peace.”

Samara looked at her parents for some time; she seemed to ponder her _father’s_ words.  “I will mom.  Thanks for,” she paused, “everything really.”  Shepard sighed, she looked somewhat relieved.  “Will you still watch the rest with me, tell me what was happening?  I want to know, I want to see it.”

Shepard looked at her wife, Liara nodded.  “Sure Sam.”  She felt relieved.  Her heart began to slow; she hadn’t even realized it was racing.  It seemed that she and Liara might just be diverting Samara’s course away from Shepard’s path.  Samara was still interested in her parents’ lives, obviously, but as a way of understanding them as people, not with the intent of emulating them.  As to how Shepard felt about Samara not following in her footsteps?  That was acceptable; preferable, actually. 

Shepard felt at peace.  The Reaper scourge was dead and gone, it would never harm Shepard’s daughter; especially not by using Victoria as a proxy.  Shepard would never let her past come back to haunt her beloved family.  Samara would live a long happy life.  She would enjoy the peace her parents earned for her, of that Shepard was sure.

Unfortunately, she was wrong.


End file.
